Until We Meet Again
by loulouflowerpower
Summary: Sherlock/OC-Two years have passed since Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson were forced to leave London while the rest of the world, including those closest to them, believed them to be dead. But returning home brought with it surprises, such as John's relationship with Mary Morstan and a new threat rising, so what does this all mean for our detectives? Will romance finally blossom?
1. Chapter 1 Many Happy Returns

_**Many Happy Returns**_

Lestrade couldn't believe he was actually sitting in a pub, listening to Anderson while he went off on one of his many theories about Sherlock, a few of his theories were even about Amelia… or Rachel Brook, as she was more commonly known as now days. Now, as a police officer, he was no stranger to hearing some pretty crazy stories and over the years he had developed a very good sense when it came to people, and right now Anderson was really starting to ring warning bells in his head. He even had a slightly manic look in his bloodshot, tired eyes as he spoke.

Poor Anderson really had let himself go over the past several months. His skin had a slightly sickly grey tone to it, like a man who hadn't been getting enough sun lately, he had grown a thick beared and let his hair grow longer, giving him a very unkempt look, and he also looked slightly thinner in his cheeks. Frankly, Lestrade was starting to feel a little concerned about the man's wellbeing, he knew that Anderson's wife had left him shortly after everything had happened and, personally, Lestrade couldn't help but wonder whether or not this whole obsession with Sherlock and Amelia was a part of his copying mechanism. He knew that it had played a big role in his wife leaving him, but ever since then it had just seemed to get even more out of control.

He hated to admit it, but when Anderson had called and asked him to meet with him in the pub for a drink, he had seriously considered declining. He felt guilty for even thinking about it, but seeing Anderson like this, with his whole life seemingly to be built entirely on mad theories about Amelia and Sherlock, made him sad to see. Anderson had never been fond of either of them when they had been alive, he had always made jabs at them both, and Lestrade personally suspected that this whole obsession was all due to guilt. The poor bloke desperately needed some sort of help or a new hobby to keep him entertained, something that didn't include wasting hours of his own life searching the internet and papers for the slightest, most obscure possible reference to anything that he could turn into a possible Amelia or Sherlock sighting.

Lestrade stared back at the man across from him, disbelief written across his face while the man continued to ramble away, his eyes still glinting with the same worrying manic look in them that he had seen several times on killer's faces before. Should he really be sitting there, letting Anderson go on like this? After all, wasn't that just encouraging him even _more_? Finally, when Anderson had paused to take a breath, he found himself unable to stay silent any longer.

"A breakaway sect of Buddhist warrior monks infiltrated by a blonde drug smuggler?" he scoffed, shaking his head. This truly was one of his most insane theories yet, "That never really happened!"

"A…a blonde drug smuggler who was exposed by an abbot with unusual powers of _observation_ and _deduction_!" Anderson quickly argued, looking at him eagerly, expecting him to be just as excited as he was. The way he was talking made it sound like it ought to be completely obvious to see that this 'abbot' could only possibly be Sherlock Holmes.

"A _blonde woman_ hiding amongst _bald monks_? That wouldn't exactly take Sherlock Holmes or even Amelia Wilson!"

"Well, perhaps it did!"

"He's _dead_ ," Lestrade told him firmly, ignoring the hurt look that crossed Anderson's face, "So is Amelia," the other man flinched and lowered his eyes to the table top between them, "I'm sorry," he sighed, truly meaning it, too, "I wish they weren't, but they really are dead and gone".

"Well, how do you explain this?" Anderson said hurriedly, reaching over to grab his bag that he had sitting on another stool beside him. He reached into it and pulled out a large world map, along with another slip of paper that looked like a printout from an online newspaper clipping. He laid the map out across the table for Lestrade to see, keeping the bit of paper in his lap.

Lestrade sighed heavily again, looking warily down at the map to see that Anderson had carefully marked out several different locations and cities all across the map with a red crosses. There was even a little red question mark over a section of Yorkshire and as he squinted, he could make out the words, 'Aysgarth'.

Anderson looked back up to Lestrade, pointing to where he had placed a red cross above New Delhi, "Sighting number two," he informed him, looking determined, "Incident at New Delhi".

His head snapped back up to him, his eyes widening slightly, "You haven't been titling these?" he asked, appalled by the very idea. It was bad enough he had spent time putting all these little red crosses on the map, let alone actually going so far as to name all of these so called 'Sherlock sightings'.

He gave him a slightly nervous look, shifting a little guiltily in on his stool, "As I was saying…" he began hastily, clearing his throat, "There is an Inspector Prakesh in New Delhi who claims, and listen to this," he grinned, his eyes glinting again, "That he solved a murder by working out the depth that the chocolate flakes in the victims ice-cream had sunk in the cone," he looked back up to Lestrade, excitement written across his face, "See?"

Lestrade nodded, looking mildly impressed, "Clever man, Inspector Prakesh".

"Oh, for…" he stopped himself, exasperated that the other man still refused to see what was so clear to him. Was he even listening to a word that he was saying? "What police inspector could have made _that_ deduction?" he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, thank you," he said sarcastically, looking quite offended. The way he made it sound, he might as well have been a car salesman who was taken off the street and told to solve crimes.

"You remember how Sherlock and Amelia never took the credit when they solved all of _your_ cases?"

Lestrade frowned at him, "They _didn't_ solve all of my cases!" he said indignantly, deeply regretting his change of heart to actually agree to meet up with Anderson now.

Anderson didn't even seem to hear him, "They're out there," he murmured, looking back across towards the bar, his eyes growing distant with thought, "Hiding. But Sherlock can't stop himself from getting involved," he laughed, shaking his head. Lestrade eyed him, slightly concerned, "It's so obviously him, if you know how to spot the signs!"

He dragged his eyes off him, hoping to try and distract him. Seeing Anderson sitting there, chuckling to himself like that was getting just a little too weird for him to handle, "The Klein Brothers," he began listing off his successful cases that he had solved without any help from Sherlock or Amelia, still feeling rather offended by his previous statement, "The Tower House thing, the Kensignton Ripper…I solved all those myself!" he turned back to Anderson.

"Well, you got Tower House wrong".

"No I didn't!"

"Yep, you did," Anderson replied, not even pausing as he flipped the map over onto another section of the globe, "Okay, sighting number three…" he tapped Hamburg, Germany on the map, "…the Mysterious Juror".

Lestrade groaned and let his head fall onto the table with a loud thump.

The other man cast him a quick look, but he wasn't to be deterred, "There's been a man on trial over in Germany, a Herr Trepoff," he explained to Lestrade, who still hadn't lifted his head off the table, "He was accused of murdering his wife, and all the jurors believed that he had done it…" a grin crossed his face, his voice deepening dramatically as he went on, "All except for _one_. He even managed to convince the rest of them that he was guilty!" he looked back to Lestrade, who sighed loudly and lifted his head to face him, "It had to be him!" he insisted, "There's no one else it can be!"

He glanced back at the map, frowning slightly, "Why are you so convinced Amelia's still alive?" he questioned, realising that out of all the so called sightings that he had mentioned, not one of them had had anything to do with Amelia.

"Ah!" Anderson pointed at him, his eyes lighting up, "Yes, this is conclusive proof!" he excitedly grabbed the piece of paper that he had resting in his lap and laid it out across the table between them, "I found it on the web".

Lestrade looked down at it to find that he had been right, it appeared to be a printout from a village newsletter with a large image of two men and two woman sitting in what looked like a pub, gathered around a table much like the table that they were sitting at right now with a large trophy sitting in the middle of table. It wasn't hard to work out just who Anderson was convinced was Amelia. Sitting on the right side of the table with her elbow leaning rather elegantly against the table, was a rather pretty woman with dead straight blonde hair that fell to the middle of the woman's back and with a pair of tortoise shell glasses that half hid her dark brown eyes. He hated to admit it, but the woman did look similar to Amelia, they had the same bone structure and even the smile on her face could have easily have been mistaken as Amelia's. This one was going to be hard to just simply ignore.

"Her names Jessica Holmes," Anderson informed him, smiling brightly as he glanced at Lestrade, who was still staring down at the photo, "She's a primary school teacher who can play both the clarinet and violin, just like Amelia, and she's on the village pub trivia team. I mean, just look at her! They could be twins".

He frowned deeply, dragging his eyes off the woman, "It looks a bit like her, yeah," he admitted, nodding slowly as he cast the picture another quick look. He sighed heavily, shaking his head as he looked back to him, "But Amelia's not a pub girl, she liked cocktails and high-end clubs, and a trivia team isn't really her style, is it? Also, Holmes?" he laughed slightly, "What sort of joke is that?"

"But don't you see? That's why it's the perfect disguise! Who would ever think that Amelia would be hiding under the name 'Holmes?'" he looked at him hopefully, but Lestrade could only shrug slightly. His smile faded, having been completely convinced that this picture would be the conclusive proof that no one could possibly argue with, "Do you not see?" he asked quietly, a hint of desperation entering his voice now.

Lestrade look at him almost sadly. Sure, the picture had given him pause, but there were a lot of people out there who could look similar to Amelia, he had a cousin that looked like a clone of David Tennant but that didn't make his cousin the Doctor.

"I see that you lost a good job fantasising about a dead man and woman coming back to life," he said to Anderson, "And I know why you want that to happen," he paused, grimacing painfully, wishing nothing more than that Anderson was right. He took a deep breath, looking back to him, "But it's never gonna," he watched as Anderson refused to look at him, shaking his head with a stubborn expression on his face. He sighed, "Okay…" he grabbed his glass and finished off the rest of his pint, before sitting the now empty glass back down on the table, "I'm gonna go and see an old friend," he grabbed his coat, shaking it out before looking back to him, "You take care, okay?" he told him, standing and grabbing a white shoebox that he had sitting on a stool beside his own, tucking his coat under his arm as he eyed Anderson sympathetically for a moment, "I'll put a word in…see if they won't review your case".

"Just look at the map, though," Anderson tried again, tracing a line with his fingertip from New Delhi to Hamburg, and then on to Brussels, "He's getting closer," he finally looked back up to Lestrade, realisation crossing his face, "It's like he's coming back".

Lestrade paused, looking thoughtful for a long moment, before he looked back to him and politely nodded. He turned and walked away, heading for the door, his mind whirling.

….

John Watson smiled, looking back to Lestrade, who was following behind him, "It's good to see you, Greg," he said to him, walking into his living room and placing the white shoebox that Lestrade had handed him on top of a filing cabinet.

He was no longer living at Baker Street, in fact he hadn't been able to step inside the flat since he had packed up his clothing and the few personal belongings that he had wanted to take with him. He was happier now, things were finally starting to get better and he owed it largely to his girlfriend, Mary. They had been dating for a while now and had even moved in together into Mary's row house. It was a small, two bedroom place, but he was loving every moment of it and he had even gone back to his doctor's practise now that he was no longer spending his time chasing around after Amelia and Sherlock. It was how he and Mary had met; she was the receptionist at the clinic.

"And you," Lestrade returned his smile, reaching out to shake John's hand.

"Have a seat," he told him, gesturing over to where an armchair was before the window, sitting down himself on the sofa that was pushed up against the wall.

Lestrade sat down in the chair, "So, how've you been?"

"Er, yeah, good," he replied, clasping his hands together on his knees, "Yeah. Much better," Lestrade nodded, looking pleased as John looked back over to the shoebox on the filing cabinet, pointing at it, "Er, so what's in the, er…?" he turned back to Lestrade.

"Oh, that, yeah. That's, er, that's some stuff from my office…some stuff of Sherlock's, actually. Even one of two things of Amelia's. I probably should have thrown it out, but I didn't know if…" he trailed off, looking slightly awkwardly back across to John.

"No, fine, yeah," John quickly nodded, trying hard to appear to be completely fine. It was still painful, thinking about it. He tried to smile at the other man, but it felt tight and uncomfortable as it twisted his lips.

Lestrade looked at him for a long moment, seeing through his smile, but he wasn't about to say anything, "Yeah, there's…there's…there's something here," he stood and walked across the room to the box, "Um, wasn't sure whether I should have kept it in," he took the lid off it, reaching inside as he began shuffling the contents around, moving aside a red silk scarf that had belonged to Amelia and the fake pink phone, a box of nicotine patches, a sheet of paper with Amelia's handwriting scribbled across it, a yellow mask, even a small black toy train. But he pushed all of that aside and instead picked out a DVD case, holding it up for John to see, "You remember the video message Amelia and Sherlock made for your birthday?" John nodded as he continued, sounding slightly fond, "Oh, I had to practically threaten him and Amelia had that terrible cold," John smiled sadly, remembering it well he waved the DVD around, "This is the uncut version. It's quite funny," he smiled broadly, holding it out to him.

"Oh, right," John said, slightly surprised as he took the offered DVD. He stared down at it, his gaze growing distant with memories.

He watched him for a moment, "Maybe I shouldn't have brought it…" he began, concerned.

"Don't worry," he shook his head, still looking down at it, "It's okay. Probably won't even watch it," he looked back up to him and they shared a slightly awkward smile, before he looked back down at the DVD.

…

It was later on in the afternoon, long after Lestrade had left, that John found himself sitting in the armchair and pouring a bit of whisky into a glass as it sat on his coffee table, the DVD right beside his glass. He screwed the lid back on the bottle and returned it back into the kitchen cabinet, before returning back to his chair and picking up his glass, taking a sip. His eyes came to rest on the DVD, looking at it for a long moment before he sat forward, sitting his glass back down and grabbing the DVD, spinning it around in his hands for a second. He cast the TV a thoughtful look, debating with himself whether or not he should.

In the end, his curiosity became too much to take and he stood with the DVD in hand, walking over to the TV set, inserting the disk into the player. As it loaded, he went back to grab his glass and moved to sit on the sofa, looking up at the TV screen directly across from him to see the familiar black and white wallpaper of 221B Baker Street on the screen and the sofa that was positioned before it, the yellow spray painted smiley face smiling back at him. A loud, dry bark-like cough sounded from somewhere off screen, making him jump slightly.

"Do we really have to do this, Lestrade?" Amelia's voice came, sounding very heavily congested and slightly wheezy, "I just want to go back to bed. I look awful; I can't possibly be seen on camera like this".

"You look fine," Lestrade's voice came, sounding reassuring, just as another nasty cough sounded.

John couldn't help wincing, recalling just how ill Amelia had been. She had fallen ill shortly after their case at Baskerville and had been so sick that Sherlock had even had to take care of her when he had been away for the day and half the night. He still recalled coming home to find the two of them curled up in Amelia's room, Amelia fast asleep beneath a thin sheet in bed while Sherlock had been snoring softly, propped up by a few pillows on top of the sheets, the TV still playing quietly in the background. Sherlock had obviously fallen asleep while watching TV, apparently taking his duty to care for Amelia while she had been so sick very seriously. That, and Amelia had probably asked him to stay with her.

Amelia slowly edged into view of the camera and moved to take a seat on the edge of the coffee table as Lestrade moved closer to her. She truly had looked awful. Her hair was falling out of a messy ponytail, her skin was very pale and she had dark circles under her tired eyes. She wasn't even dressed properly, which truly went to show how sick she must have been, only wearing a pair of pyjamas that were covered by a fluffy royal blue dressing gown. She wasn't wearing slippers, just a pair of rainbow bed socks.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered, sniffing as she reached into her dressing gown pocket, pulling out a tissue to dab at her nose, "God, I feel bloody awful," she moaned, breaking into another coughing fit.

"You're not dying, Amelia," Sherlock's voice suddenly came from behind the camera, startling John slightly.

"Shut up, Holmes, before I throw this tissue at you and see how well you handle being sick".

"Children, please," Lestrade cut in, sounding exasperated, and the night was only young, "Amelia, you agreed to do this. For John, remember?"

She nodded tiredly, only to pause and cough into the sleeve of her dressing gown, "He had better be grateful," she said, once the coughing had passed and she had lifted her head up from her sleeve. She looked back to the camera, her eyes watering slightly, "Okay, I'm ready," she plastid a smile to her face, one that actually looked real and looked directly into the camera lens, "Hi, John, I can't believe I'm missing out on your birthday. I was so looking forward to it," her smile widened further, but even John could tell that she was starting to struggle to keep it in place, "I just want to say that you are one of my dearest friends and one of the sweetest men I know, and I so wish you the best possible birthday. So, from Baker Street, best wishes for the coming year, I know that it's going to be great," she gave him a mock salute.

John smiled bitterly, taking a sip from his glass, letting the liquid burn his throat as he swallowed it, "You were wrong," he murmured to the TV. It truly had been the worst year of his life.

Amelia broke off into a coughing fit, this time it was so bad that Sherlock even had to step out into camera view with a glass of water for her, which she gladly drank in one go. Once the glass was empty, she gave him a grateful look and rose a little unsteadily to her feet, grabbing Sherlock's arm to regain her balance as she made her way back out of shot. Sherlock began to pace the living room.

"So, what do I...what do I…what d'you want me to do at the end?" he asked as he continued to pace, glancing over to Lestrade behind the camera, seeming to be quite agitated in front of the lens.

"Sherlock, don't worry about it," Amelia's voice came again, sounding worse after having spoken her little birthday message, "Just say something nice, wish John some best wishes, and that's it".

He nodded, but still seemed quite stressed over the whole thing as he stopped, looking passed the camera to where John assumed Amelia must have been, "Shall I, um…smile and wink?" he suggested, "I do that sometimes," he shrugged, shaking his head, "I've no idea why. People _seem_ to like it, humanises me," he turned away, glancing out the window.

"Fine," Lestrade sighed, "Whatever".

"Do whatever feels right, Holmes," Amelia advised him, breaking off with another cough.

He frowned, turning back to the camera, " _Why_ am I doing this, again?"

"You're gonna miss the dinner," Lestrade reminded him, his exasperation growing in his voice.

"Of course I'm going to miss dinner. There'll be _people_ ".

"It's called being there for your friend, Holmes," Amelia said, and John could hear the eye roll in her voice, even when it was so heavily congested.

Sherlock began to turn away again, when he suddenly turned back to the camera, "How can John be having a birthday dinner?" he asked, frowning deeply at Lestrade and Amelia behind the camera, "All his friends hate him".

John's mouth twitched. It was just such a completely Sherlock thing to say.

"Holmes…" Amelia's warning voice came, sounding more amusing then anything.

"Oh, you know I'm right," Sherlock pointed off to something on the left of the screen, and a loud sigh came from the same direction, out of sight, "You only have to look at their faces," he continued, "I wrote an essay on suppressed hatred in close proximity based entirely on his friends," he looked away, thoughtful as John smiled again, "On reflection, it probably wasn't a very good choice of gift".

"Oh, God," Amelia groaned loudly, and the camera briefly turned to her. She was staring at Sherlock, now off screen with a horrified expression as she sat on the arm of Sherlock's chair. She closed her eyes and shook her head, "And this is why I will be checking whatever present you give to _anyone_ from now one," she sighed.

"Probably a wise idea," Sherlock remarked, not seeming to be overly concerned. He frowned as the camera turned back onto him, " _What_ was my excuse again?"

"You said you had a thing," Lestrade replied.

"Ah, right, yes!" he nodded, it apparently coming back to him now, "That's right. A thing".

"You might want to elaborate".

"No, no, no. Only lies have detail".

"True," Amelia agreed off screen.

John closed his eyes and shook his head very slightly, a flash of pain crossing his face before he opened his eyes again and looked back at the screen.

Sherlock looked directly into the camera for a moment, seeming to be trying to find the right words, "Right, I just…I need a moment to, um, figure out what I'm going to do," he turned away and stepped over towards his chair, Amelia appearing back into view as the camera followed him.

John looked down at his glass, "I can tell you what you can both do," he said softly, "You can stop being dead," he lifted the glass up to his mouth, taking a large drink.

"Okay," Sherlock said, and his head snapped back up, startled as, at the same time, Amelia said, "Got it?" having been obviously speaking to Sherlock, but it had sounded like they had just answered him.

Sherlock turned away again, "Okay, I'm ready now," he sat down in his armchair; Amelia still perched on the armrest. He looked up at the camera, "Hallo, John," he smiled up at it, "I'm sorry I'm not there at the moment," he told him, sounding sincere, "I'm very busy. However, many happy returns," he looked down, before quickly looking back up again, going on, "Oh, and don't worry. I'm going to be with you again very soon".

The doorbell of John's front door began ringing and he glanced back at the screen, before quickly sitting forward and placing his glass down on the coffee table, clearing his throat as he used the TV remote to pause the DVD on Sherlock and Amelia's faces, Amelia smiling back at him. He rose and went to check the door. Unknowingly, as he left the room, the DVD un-paused itself and began playing on its own accord. Sherlock and Amelia shared a quick glance before turning back to the camera, smiling widely as they winked.

 _ **And here we are the start of the Third season. I've already got the next chapter and possibly, depending on whether of not I decide to split it into two, possibly also the one after that partly finished. Sherlock and Amelia will be back again, properly, and I have missed writing Amelia so much. I didn't even realise how much I missed it until I started the next chapter. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	2. Chapter 2 The Empty Hearse, Part 1

_**The Empty Hearse, Part 1.**_

 _Sherlock stared down at John from the roof of Bart's hospital, his phone pressed against his ear, "It's a trick," he told him, his voice tearful, "Just a magic trick"._

" _No," John snapped, looking up to him from below, and even from the roof Sherlock could see him shaking his head, "All right, stop it now," he began to head back over towards the hospital entrance._

" _No, stay exactly where you are," he called urgently, holding out a hand towards him, "Don't move"._

 _He stopped and backed back, holding his own arm up towards his flatmate in surrender, "All right"._

 _Breathing hard, Sherlock didn't lower his hand, "Keep your eyes fixed on me," he said sternly, his voice growing frantic again, "Please, will you do this for me?"_

" _Do what?"_

" _This phone call…it's, er…it's my note," he paused, swallowing, keeping the act going while behind him two men discreetly began to drag Moriarty's body across the roof, unseen by John, and over to a doorway. He didn't react, didn't even glance back at them, his entire focus still fixed down below on John, "It's what people do, don't they, leave a note?"_

 _John didn't answer at first, lowering the phone from his ear as he stared up at Sherlock, before lifting the phone back up to his ear, "Leave a note when…?" he purposely trailed off, his voice shaking as it broke._

" _Goodbye, John"._

" _No," he shook his head urgently, his breathing growing panicked, "Don't"._

 _Meanwhile, as Sherlock and John had been speaking, the two men that had dragged Moriarty's body stepped inside a service lift inside the building, lying the body out on to the floor and quickly dressing the body in a long black coat that was just like Sherlock's and a blue scarf. One of the men opened up a large black case that they had brought to reveal a latex mask, a perfect replica of Sherlock's face in every detail. The second man closed the lift's doors as the first man carefully used a pair of tweezers to extract a blue contact lens from a glass container. Back on the roof, Sherlock gazed down at John for a long moment, before he tossed the phone aside to land on the roof behind him, looking back up across the city._

" _SHERLOCK!" John screamed up to him, his entire focus on him._

 _The two men continued to work; carefully inserting the blue contacts into Moriarty's unblinking eyes, before the second man very carefully picked up the mask and placed it over Moriarty's face, grabbing a scalpel from the case and using it to lift the closed eyes of the mask, while the first man placed a dark curly wig over Moriarty's slicked back hair, making the body look exactly like Sherlock._

 _Still on the roof, Sherlock held his arms out at his sides and allowed himself to fall forwards, plunging off the roof while John watched on in horror, taking a step forward, only for a man on a pushbike to suddenly come up from behind him and slam into him, sending him crashing onto the very hard road surface, hitting the side of his head. Sherlock was still plummeting to the ground; only what John hadn't seen was that he actually had a long, thick bungee cord attached to the back of his coat._

 _Molly Hooper gasped as she stood inside the hospital, watching from a window as Sherlock plunged past, the bungee cord trailing behind him while, back on the ground, John groaned and winced painfully, trying to stop himself from losing consciousness. Finally, with less than a meter to the ground, Sherlock's bungee cord stopped his descent and he was yanked back up to the same floor Molly was watching from, his arms flailing around for a moment before he covered his face and managed to swing himself over to the window, smashing through it and sending glass flying. Molly gasped again, flitching back as he came to land smoothly on his feet. He unclipped the bungee cord from the back of his coat, letting it fly back up to the roof, and straightened his coat before ruffling the shards of glass from his curls. He looked up to Molly and flashed her a charming smile with a little wink, before he strolled past her and out of the room, leaving her staring after him with a little girly smile on her face, quite breathless._

 _Meanwhile, downstairs, the two men that had completely disguised Moriarty's body as Sherlock's dragged the body out of the lift and into the street, placing it on the ground where Sherlock should have fallen, positioning it to make it look as if it had, and began squirting fake blood around the pavement and over the body. Other people began hurrying into position around the body, some made out to look like hospital staff in blue scrubs, all pretending to be shocked and concerned._

 _As John began to pull himself upright from the road, he looked back over towards the body to see all the people gathered around it, half blocking his view. He winced as he got onto his feet, when a man approached him, wearing a dark blue coat, and stepped into his path._

" _John," the man, actually Darren Brown, a famous illusionist and hypnotist, said as he blocked John's view of the body. He placed a hand on John's shoulder, "John. Look at me. Look at me," John blinked and looked at him, "And…sleep!" he ordered, putting his hand over John's eyes. He collapsed into Darren's arms, his eyes closed as the man gently began to lower him back down onto the ground, "Right the way down, right the way deep, right the way sound asleep," he carefully eased him back onto his side on the ground, "That's right. That's good, keeping my voice just there in the centre of your head and floating all the way around you," while he spoke calmly, he reached for John's watch and wound it back a few minutes. He slowly began to stand, looking back down at John, "And you will awaken in three, two, one…" John grimaced, starting to move, "…zero," he flipped the hood of his jacket up and walked away._

 _John's eyes opened and he groaned, a funny ringing in his ears as he looked back across to the people gathered around Sherlock's body. He pulled himself onto his feet and stumbled across to the crowd, trying to push his way through, "Let me come through, please," he told them desperately as some of the crowd tried to hold him back, "He's my friend…"_

 _Back inside the hospital, Sherlock had just stepped outside a side entrance of the building and out into an alleyway, where Amelia was standing waiting for him, wearing a leather jacket and a matching mini skirt, leaning casually up against the side of the brick wall. She smirked at him and pushed herself off the wall, walking up to him, her six inch heels clicking loudly on the ground._

" _Hello, darling," she said, and, without even pausing, grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him forward, kissing him passionately as Sherlock just as eagerly returned the kiss. They broke from the kiss and Sherlock smiled slowly at her. She let go of his coat as she reached into her pocket, holding up a set of Ferrari keys, dangling them up in front of his face, "Shall we, Mr Holmes?"_

 _John's knees gave way beneath him, the shock of seeing his friend's bloody body on the pavement and the knock to his head simply too much for him to take, half supported by a couple of the people gathered around the body. Two paramedics arrived with a stretcher and, with the help of two doctors from the crowd; they lifted the body up onto the bed and wheeled it off into the hospital._

 _Back in the alley, Sherlock's smile grew and he took the keys from her, "Where should we go first, the future Mrs Holmes?" he asked, taking her hand and…_

"Bollacks!" Lestrade exclaimed, shaking his head as he looked at Anderson, who had just spent the past several minutes telling him possibly his most ridiculous theory about how Sherlock had survived. They were standing outside a small mobile coffee stand before work, just outside Scotland Yard, holding their coffee cups, when he had made the mistake of actually asking Anderson to tell him about his latest theory in an attempt to kill some time. It truly had been a very bad idea.

"No, no, no, no!" Anderson said hurriedly, a slightly deranged look in his tired eyes. Lestrade had hoped that by getting his job back, the man would have pulled himself together and started rebuilding his life, but sadly that wasn't the case and he was still sporting the wild beard and his hair was unwashed. He looked like a mess, "It's obvious!" he continued, smiling, " _That's_ how he did it! It's obvious!"

"Darren Brown?" he gave him an incredulous look, "Amelia actually being there with a _Ferrari_?" he paused, laughing at how absurd the entire thing sounded. He was lucky he hadn't been drinking his coffee when Anderson had told him the next part; otherwise he probably would have completely spat it down his front, "Sherlock and Amelia secretly _engaged_?" he sighed, looking back to the man, "Let it go, Sherlock and Amelia are dead".

"Are they?" he questioned, pointing a sceptical finger at him, a slight grin still on his face. Nothing would ever convince him that he was wrong, nothing, because if anyone could have survived something like that it would be Sherlock Holmes, "Amelia's body was never found," he pointed out.

"No, but there had been evidence that she had been in that car," Lestrade replied, not quite able to completely argue against Amelia possibly still being alive. There hadn't been any body found in the wreckage, nor was one found anywhere on the bottom of the lake, and while he would never admit it to anyone else, he did still hold out hope that maybe, just _maybe_ , she was still alive somewhere. He didn't know how she could have got out, but without a body, it was easy to still keep hope, "But there was Sherlock's body," he went on, unable to find any excuse to deny Sherlock's death, "It was him. It was _definitely_ him. Molly Hooper laid him out," he lifted his cup up to his mouth to take a drink.

"No, she's lying. It was _Jim Moriarty's_ body with a mask on!"

Lestrade swallowed his mouthful of coffee, lowering his cup to stare at him, "A mask?" he repeated, scoffing as Anderson nodded eagerly, "A bungee rope, a mask, Darren Brown, Amelia, a Ferrari?" he shook his head, sighing heavily, "Two years, and the theories keep getting more stupid," he looked back to Anderson, "How many more've you got for me today?"

Anderson's smile slipped slightly, but he still seemed quite eager to keep talking, "Well, you know the paving slabs in that whole area, even the exact ones that he landed on, you know they were all…" he began quickly.

"Guilt," Lestrade cut him off, pointing at him with the same hand that was holding his coffee cup. His expression grew sterner, "That's all this is," Anderson looked away from him, "You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud, you and Donovan," he continued, and Anderson lowered his head guiltily, "You did this, and it killed him, and both him and Amelia's staying dead," he took a step back from him, before pausing again, "Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it's gonna change what really happened?" he gave him one last lingering look before turning on his heel and walking away from him.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson!" Anderson called after him, his voice shaking slightly.

Lestrade paused, looking back to him, "Yeah, well that won't bring them back," he told him, continuing on his way and approaching where a group of reporters had set up.

"…that after extensive police investigations," the first reporter was saying as he stood before his crews camera, "Richard and Rachel Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty…"

"…amidst unprecedented scenes," a second male reporter was saying into another camera, "There was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion…"

"…but sadly," a third female reporter was also speaking, "All this all comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago with the fellow late detective, Amelia Wilson, sister of James Moriarty and…"

"…questions are now being asked as to why the police let matters get so far," the first reporter went on.

Lestrade and Anderson stood side by side a short distance behind the camera crews, still clasping their coffee cups while they watched the reporters.

"Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London's Bart's Hospital," the second reporter added, "Although he left no note, friends say it's unlikely he was able to cope with…"

"Well then," Lestrade remarked, turning back to Anderson, raising his cup, "Absent friends. Amelia and Sherlock".

Anderson hesitated, before slowly raising his own cup, "Amelia and Sherlock," he said sadly, lightly tapping their cups together in toast.

"And may God rest their souls," he finished, and they both took a sip in memory of their fallen friends.

….

It was late at night and Amelia was still feeling the urge to break into a smile just thinking about what she had heard on the news that morning. She had almost dropped her tea cup when it had been announced on her TV that Sherlock had been vindicated, that the truth was finally out there and everyone now knew that it had been her brother, James, that had made up the whole thing about Sherlock being a fraud. Sure, it might have taken two years for the truth to finally come out, but she had still burst into tears and sobbed with joy until she couldn't cry anymore, dancing around the living room of her small cottage. This was just the first step in Sherlock being able to come back home, for her to be able to come out of hiding and for things to go back to normal, and oh, how she had missed the old days.

She had taken to reading John's blog almost nightly before going to sleep, feeling like she needed to read it to keep the memories alive, to keep herself from slipping to deeply into her fake persona: Jessica Holmes. Honestly, she had been so upset with Mycroft when she had found out what her new last name would be. Of all the times he had to suddenly decide to develop a sense of humour, it had to be with something she would have to spend the next two years using and getting used to being called. It would be mortifying when she finally got back to her old life and wound up accidently signing J. Holmes.

Still, she supposed it wasn't so bad, she had found that even though it had taken a bit of getting used to not being able to simply go out and spend over a thousand pounds on a pair of shoes that took her fancy, she had slowly grown to like her new life. Mycroft had set her up in a lovely, rather cute little cottage set in the middle of Aysgarth village in North Yorkshire and had organised all of her false papers and documents, allowing her the ability to even become a music teacher. It hadn't been as easy as she had hoped it would be to step into the role of a teacher, there was so much more involved than just classes and getting kids to play the recorder, but luckily she was an excellent actress when she needed to be and the rest of the staff were all very helpful whenever she was in desperate need of assistance. Thankfully, she had managed to fool everyone into believing that she was actually a legitimate teacher, though it did help that she was very knowledge on music after years of private music lessons as a child.

Amelia wrapped her coat closer around her, glancing at her companion as he walked alongside her. Robert Cook was the local vet and they had easily developed a friendship two years ago when she had first arrived in the village. He was tall, with dark brown hair and an athletic build that came in handy when dealing with cows that needed treatment.

"You know," she began, looking at his profile as they walked beneath a lamppost, "You really didn't need to walk me home".

He shrugged, flashing her a smile, "It gave me a good excuse to be alone with you for a bit longer," he replied.

She tried hard to keep her smile in place as they turned down a small street that only had three houses on it, one of them her own little white cottage with white roses growing up the front of the building, a large hedge running around the front garden. She had to admit, this was the type of house that she had always wanted to retire in, "Well, it's very sweet," she said, glancing quickly back to him.

He walked her right up to her front door, the outdoor security light illuminating them both as they came to a stop in front of the red wooden door, "But I think you already probably knew that, right?" he raised his eyebrows at her, "That I was just looking for an excuse to spend time with you. You always just seem to know things".

Amelia smiled slightly, lightly shrugging, "It's a gift".

"I like you," he said bluntly, and Amelia could feel her smile becoming slightly strained, "I have ever since you first walked through the doors of the pub two years ago, and I've been trying to screw up my courage to tell you".

She swallowed, shifting slightly, "You certainly seemed to have found your courage now," she said quietly, feeling rather flattered, even though she had known for years that he found her attractive. It was one of the benefits and curses of being able to deduce people.

Robert took a deep breath and met her eyes, "Jessica…"

"Wait," she quickly cut in, holding a hand up against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath her palm. She sighed slightly, "Look, Robert, I like you, I do," she smiled softly at him, wincing slightly as his eyes lit up, "But there are things about me that you don't know and I doubt you would want to date me if you knew".

"Everyone has skeletons".

"Yeah, well, I know for a fact that mine are going to pop up one day soon. This, being here, was only ever meant to be temporary and then I'll be back in London".

He smiled slightly, "You said that two years ago and you're still here," he reminded her, reaching down to take her hand as it still rested against his chest. She made no move to stop him, "I don't care what skeletons you have, I think you and I could have a real future together, Jessica".

Amelia inwardly sighed. She hadn't tried to encourage feelings to develop and she did like him, he was sweet and smart, and to be honest, he probably was right. They were well suited, but there was still things that she just could ignore and one rather big issue that she hadn't forgotten about, "Robert," she paused, trying to think of how to say it, "Look, I think that we probably would be happy together, but the thing is…"

Robert's smile faded, his expression growing slightly sadder, "There's someone else, isn't there?" he asked, and she blinked in surprise. He sighed, "Let me guess, the ex-boyfriend that you had the messy break up with".

For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about, until it hit her with startling clarity that he was talking about her lie about leaving London to get away from a boyfriend that things hadn't ended well with, "Not exactly…" she said hastily, "But yes, there was someone that I…cared for back in London. It's been two years and my feelings haven't changed, which tells me that whatever I feel for him isn't just a silly little crush like I thought it might be, but something more serious".

"He must be some guy".

"He's…definitely unique," she smiled, laughing slightly to herself as she thought about him, about Sherlock. Two years had passed and she still felt her heart rate pick up just at the sheer thought or mention of him. It made her half feel like a teenager again.

"I get it," Robert assured her, trying hard to smile, but Amelia could see straight through it, "The heart wants what the heart wants, who am I to try and argue with that?"

"Thank you," Amelia squeezed his hand, sincere, "Few would be so understanding".

"I've been there myself, unable to get someone out of my head. Sometimes you just meet someone and you can't stop thinking about them. I get it".

She nodded, but she had the feeling that he might be talking about her, "This changes nothing, okay?" she fixed him with a firm look.

He smiled widely at her, and this time it truly looked sincere, "Okay," he agreed, and silence fell over them. He shifted slightly, glancing at his watch on his left wrist, "Well, I should probably…"

"Yeah," she said hurriedly, letting go of his hand and stepping back. A part of her half wondered whether or not she had just done the right thing, after all, she and Sherlock had only kissed once and there had been nothing more to it, she had no obligation to stay single or to wait for him. But even still, she knew that she couldn't have put Robert through that, not when she had feelings for someone else, he deserved better and she really couldn't say what would happen when Sherlock came back. Her life would go back to normal, but Robert was already living his normal life, she couldn't put him through all that drama, she cared too much for him to do that.

"Night," Robert told her, starting to back away and off down her gravel path.

"Goodnight, Robert," Amelia said, waving at him, watching until he had turned around and walked off into the dark, disappearing from sight. She sighed heavily and turned to her door, reaching into her coat pocket for her keys, when she froze because the door was already unlocked. There was no sign of someone forcing it or picking the lock, which could only mean…she groaned, closing her eyes, "Oh, what now?"

She pushed the door open and walked into the small entrance hall, taking the time to pull her coat off and hang it up on the wall hooks by the door, dropping her keys in a small crystal bowl on the table beneath the hooks. She stepped past the table and over to where the door to the living room was across the small space and on the right side of the cottage, pushing the door open onto the comfortable room.

The lights were already on, the thick red curtains over the bay window blocking the light completely from the outside. There were dark stained beams running across the roof and a large stone fireplace across the room with a large sofa, coffee table, and a TV set that was sitting in the corner of the room. And sitting on the sofa in a nice black blazer and pencil skirt was none other than Mycroft's assistant, her entire attention glued to the phone in her hand ad her fingertips tapped away on it.

"Please," Amelia said, letting the living room door close behind her, "Have a seat, make yourself at home".

The woman finally lifted her head to look at her, "Good evening, Miss Wilson".

"I don't imagine you're going by 'Anthea' today, so what shall I call you?"

"Hmm…" the woman seemed to consider it for a moment, "Hannah".

"I don't suppose I can hope that you didn't just transcribe every word that was spoken between Robert and I just now to Mycroft, 'Hannah?'"

"Sorry".

Amelia nodded, resigned as she moved to sit on the other end of the sofa from her, crossing her legs, "Do I even want to know why Mycroft would have the slightest bit of interest in the first place?" she asked warily.

'Hannah' returned her attention back to her phone, "Probably not".

She eyed her, frowning as she tried to figure out why she was here. They usually only spoke over the phone once every three months as a simple check in, in fact the last time they had seen each other was when Anderson, who had really let himself go over the past two years from what she had briefly seen of him, had shown up in the village and tried to track her down. She had been lucky, very lucky that she had actually been away with the school when the older levels had gone on a camp, but Mycroft had had a plan in place in case something like that was to happen. She had her very own body double that Mycroft had flown in to pose as her when Anderson had shown up, managing to convince the man that he was mistaken and that it hadn't actually been Amelia that he had seen in some photo that he had found on the internet. So really, there shouldn't be any reason for 'Hannah' to be showing up, not unless…

"Sherlock," she breathed, her eyes widening and she felt a spark of concern wash over her, "Please tell me nothing's happened to him, that he's okay?"

'Hannah' looked back up to her, lowering the phone into her lap, "Mr Holmes the younger is quite well, Miss Wilson," Amelia sighed in relief, her eyes closing briefly, "But you are correct in assuming that my visits is to do with him".

Amelia sat up straighter, swallowing hard, "He's coming back, isn't he?" she said quietly, suddenly feeling the mad urge to start laughing in delight, "After all this time, it's finally time".

"Congratulations, Miss Wilson," 'Hannah' said, and stood, smoothing her skirt as she straightened with her phone in hand, "Tomorrow morning at eight AM a car will arrive to take you to the helicopter, which will take you directly to London. Everything will be provided for you upon your arrival".

"Everything?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow. She lifted up a lock of dyed blonde hair that was far longer then she would usually ever grow it, easily reaching the middle of her back and dead straight. She missed her natural hair. Plus, the glasses she had been wearing for the past two years were annoying, always getting dirty and fogging up when she was trying to cook or drink her tea.

"A hairstylist will be at your disposable and a professional manicurist. I will also see to it that you have a wide selection of clothing for you to choose from and other accessories that you might desire. Anything else that you may require will be catered for".

"'Hannah,' or whatever else you might wish to call yourself, I think you just may be my new best friend".

"I feel honoured, ma'am".

Amelia laughed, completely delighted that within only a few short hours she would be back in London, back to her old life, back to calling herself Amelia Wilson again, and, most exciting of all, she would be able to see Sherlock and possibly even John again. Sadly, a rather pressing thought crossed her mind and she sighed, "While I am delighted by this unexpected turn of events," she began warily, "I do have a life here; I can't just suddenly disappear off to London".

"Yes, and it's already been taken care of," 'Hannah' replied, not the slightest bit concerned or fazed. She had even gone back to tapping on her phone, "You have an elderly aunt that has fallen ill and needs you to take care of her".

She smiled, shaking her head. She really should have known that Mycroft would have thought of everything, she supposed she was just a little rusty. Village life was very different from living in the middle of London, after all, "I should have known," she remarked, amused.

'Hannah' lifted her head and nodded to her, "I will see you tomorrow, Miss Wilson," she went to open the living room door, only to pause and glance back to her, "Oh, and welcome back".

"Goodbye, 'Hannah,'" Amelia said happily, wiggling her fingers at her in a little wave. She waited until she had heard her front door close and the sound of 'Hannah's' heels on her gravel path before jumping onto her feet, dancing around the room in her delight while she laughed.

….

Looking back, Amelia really couldn't imagine how it had been possible for her to sleep the night before she would be leaving for London, but somehow she actually woke up feeling well rested and bright eyed, which was an achievement in itself since she couldn't recall the last time that had happened. By eight that morning, she was showered, dressed, and finished with breakfast and already dashing out to meet the sleek black car as it pulled up in front of her cottage.

The driver, wearing a nice black suit, climbed out and came to open the back door for her; gently closing it behind her once she had settled into the backseat. The drive to where the helicopter was waiting in the middle of a large field took just a five minute drive out of the village, the time seeming to fly by and before she knew it, she was strapped in with a pair of earphones over her head as she flew over large open fields and towns. Eventually the countryside began to disappear and she couldn't help but break into a massive smile as she saw London appear in the distance.

While the trip had been without complaint, Amelia couldn't help but be happy when they had reached the airport and made their descent, landing gently on the tarmac while the large blades continued to spin rapidly. She was escorted from the helicopter and into yet another black town car, which smoothly drove her through the streets of London while she looked out through the tinted windows, feeling her heart lighten at the sight of her city. Oh, how she had missed it, the noise, the traffic, the people, and the wonderful shops, village life could never possibly compare to all the excitement and thrill of being in the city.

The journey came to an end when the car pulled to a stop outside of the white building front of the Diogenes Club. Her driving stepping out to pull her door open and she gave him a small nod as she climbed out onto the pavement, allowing herself a second to breath in the air and let the noise of the city wash over her, but she didn't have long before 'Hannah,' or whatever she was calling herself today, stepped down the white steps of the building to greet her.

She trailed behind the other brunet as she lead her through the building's many hallways and down to the basement level. She wasn't taken to Mycroft's office; instead she was lead to a slightly gloomy grey concrete room that had been set up like a small beauty salon. She very nearly collapsed at the mere sight of such a stunning display of clothing that had been set out for her. If there was such a thing as heaven, then this would be hers.

….

"I trust that you are feeling better, Miss Wilson?" 'Hannah,' as she was still calling herself today, said as she stood in the doorway of the makeshift salon.

Amelia was standing before a full length mirror, grinning at her own reflection. Her hair was back to its proper brown and she had cut it to her shoulder blades, deciding that she had quite grown to like the bit of extra length. She had pulled it back into a ponytail, pleased to not have to straighten it. Gone were her glasses, she had a pair of contact lens in, but she saw no point in hiding her brown eyes now that the entire world knew who she really was and went with a clear pair. She didn't think that she looked too much different than she did two years ago, she was thirty five years old now, or at least she would be very soon and she personally felt that she had aged quite well. She was rather shocked that she wasn't starting to get lines around her eyes, but then again, she supposed she was still young.

She pulled her eyes off her face and down to her outfit, which consisted of a pair of ivory white peep-toe heeled sandals that had little crystals running around the heel, a pale blue, long sleeve shirtdress with a flounced skirt that came to an inch above her knees, and a white fitted blazer that had a cutaway hem at the front. She also had a gold necklace with a large yellow marigold resin flower detailing on it, with a pair of matching drop earrings for a splash of colour. She had kept her makeup rather simple with a bit of eyeliner, pale pink lip-gloss, and rather than her usual red nail polish, she had gone with simple French nails.

She looked back up to the mirror where she could see 'Hannah' standing in the doorway, watching her, "Oh, it's so good to be back," she told her, delighted to be back in something that most people would consider to be frivolous, but was something she adored. She had missed this.

"I'm glad to hear it, Miss Wilson," she nodded to her, and held out a hand towards the doorway, "Shall we?"

Amelia took a deep breath, knowing what was coming next. She just hoped she wouldn't do something stupid like burst into tears or suddenly throw herself at him and kiss him out of sheer happiness of seeing him again. She needed to get control of herself, but that was rather hard when her emotions felt like they had just been put through a blender. Still, she turned away from the mirror and walked across the room and out the door into the narrow hallway, feeling slightly better with the sound of her own heels clicking on the concrete floor as she walked. It had always been a soothing sound to her, perhaps because it reminded her of her mother.

'Hannah' lead her a few doors down until they came to one seemingly unassuming door, only this one on closer inspection was slightly different. There was a small key code panel beside the door and a camera was directly facing the door from above so that anyone approaching could easily be seen. She swiftly entered the code; Amelia didn't even bother to look away because unless Mycroft had changed it in the past two years, she still remembered it from her time visiting his office with Sherlock while they had made plans. The doors lock clicked open and 'Hannah' pushed the door open, stepping back to let Amelia enter first.

Mycroft's office was small and very grey, with a large painting of the Queen hanging on the wall behind his large desk. There was nothing personal about the room, no pictures or knickknacks. Personally, Amelia couldn't help but find the room rather depressing, everything just seemed to be a different shade of grey and there was no natural sunlight due to it having been built underground. Perhaps that's why Mycroft was like he was; his depressive office was starting to rub off on him. What the room desperately needed was some bright colour and soft furnishes, in other words, a woman's touch. But the décor of the office didn't hold her attention long and she almost instantly found her eyes coming to land on him, Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock didn't look much different then she remembered, his hair had recently been cut and washed, but it was still the same dark curls that she still remembered toying with after their kiss. He did look slightly thinner than before and, if possible, his skin seemed to be even paler then she had ever seen it, though not sickly, more like he just hadn't been spending enough time in direct sunlight for several months. And she still found him to be just as handsome as before, much to her mild annoyance that at a time like this she was noticing such a trivial detail about him. She had apparently caught him when he was still dressing, she was grateful that he had a pair of black dress trousers on and shoes, but he was only halfway through buttoning his crisp white shirt.

He looked up to her at the sound of the door opening, his expression unreadable, "Amelia," he said in greeting.

Amelia raised her eyebrows, "Two years and that's how you greet me?" she scoffed, shaking her head, "Oh, I think we can do better than that, Holmes," she didn't wait for him to reply, knowing that he probably already deduced what she was about to do, and instead she took two large steps forward and threw her arms around him.

He had braced for the hug, but he nevertheless still returned it, though he did still awkwardly pat her on the back, seeming to be unsure of exactly what he was supposed to do with his hands, "Why is it always hugging?" he muttered, his breath tickling the side of her neck.

"Shut up, Holmes, and just let me do this," she told him sternly, suddenly feeling the urge to cry into his shoulder. She tried hard not to look at Mycroft standing by his desk, watching the two of them with a slightly knowing look in his eyes. She sniffed slightly, closing her eyes tightly to will away the tears.

"You're not about to cry, are you?" Sherlock asked, sounding slightly horrified by the idea.

"No," she said quickly, snapping her eyes open, "Not that you would be of much comfort even if I did cry," she huffed, pulling back, but as she was doing so she caught sight of something beneath the collar of his shirt that made her freeze, her eyes widening, "Sherlock, what on Earth…" she breathed, reaching out to ease the top of his shirt open.

He instantly grabbed her wrist in a lightning fast move that actually made her jump in surprise, her head snapping back up to blink at him, "It's nothing," he said calmly, throwing a quick glare at Mycroft.

Amelia frowned at him, pulling her wrist free, "Men, you're always either dying or trying to act like you're great, even if you really are _dying_ ," she fixed him with a sharp look, her tone hard, "I think I'll be the judge of just how bad it is, Holmes," she paused, looking back to him with an eyebrow raised, "May I?"

Sherlock released a long sigh, "If you think it will really satisfy you".

"I bet you say that to _all_ the girls," she laughed, giving him a cheeky smile. His mouth actually twitched in amusement.

"Oh, dear Lord," Mycroft muttered, running a hand down his face.

"Sorry," she went on, clearing her throat, but she was still smiling, "Couldn't resist," she reached forward and carefully moved the fabric of his shirt aside, her eyes widening as she found herself staring at his badly bruised chest. The bruising was still fresh, only a day or so old and she did notice that they all seemed to be around the same size as a fist. A man of around six feet and a strong build had caused them. She frowned and grabbed Sherlock's left wrist, a thought occurring to her as she skimmed back his sleeve to reveal a red line that was about an inch thick and went around it, indicating that he had been restrained with a metal cuff. She swallowed, taking in all the injuries as she let her hand drop from his wrist, "God, Sherlock, you look like someone has danced an Irish dance all over your chest," she grimaced, pulling her eyes away from his chest and back up to his face.

"You can thank Mycroft for that," Sherlock said coolly, throwing his brother another quick glare, "He was enjoying watching me get beaten".

Mycroft sighed heavily, looking exasperated, "I was undercover," he defended himself, shrugging, "I had to keep the game going".

Amelia looked back and forth between the two of them, and shook her head, "It's always nice to see a relationship between siblings that is almost as bad as your own was," she remarked lightly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Trying hard not to think too much about Sherlock's injuries, she focused her attention back on Mycroft, frowning slightly, "So tell me, what is the case that you needed us so desperately to come back and work on for you, Mycroft?"

He actually seemed slightly surprised, "Case?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes, "Obviously there is a case," she said tiredly, running a hand absently down the front of her dress, "You wouldn't have gone to all the effort to bring Sherlock back if there wasn't something important going on. You hate doing your own dirty work; you wouldn't have gone undercover when you could just as easily send someone to bring Sherlock back unless you were truly desperate. Therefore, I can only conclude that there _must_ be a case, no doubt something to do with the government or national importance".

Sherlock smirked at her, looking strangely pleased, "I'm glad to see that village life hasn't slowed you down, Amelia," he commented.

She grinned at him, "Not a chance, Holmes".

Mycroft cleared his throat, looking back to Amelia, "You're quite right," he admitted as Sherlock went back to buttoning his shirt, looking at his own reflection in a floor length mirror on the side of the room, "There is an active terrorist cell underground in London with an attack imminent".

"A terrorist cell?" she repeated, mildly surprised by the news, "We certainly are being thrown straight into the fire, aren't we?"

Mycroft fixed them both with a stern look, "I need you to give this matter your full attention," he told them, very serious as Sherlock started tucking his shirt into his trousers, "Is that quite clear?"

Sherlock eyed his reflection for a moment, "What do you think of this shirt?" he asked as he glanced back to Amelia, pretending as if he hadn't just heard a word that his brother had said.

"Sherlock!"

Amelia smiled slightly, amused, "Personally, I think purple suits you better," she replied, going along with him. It was childish, yes, but it was always amusing to see Mycroft annoyed.

"Amelia!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother, who looked ready to start throwing a tantrum over the fact that they didn't seem to be taking it seriously, "We will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft," he assured him, sounding bored as he briefly glanced back to his brother, "Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in. Feel every quiver of its beating heart…"

"And you say you're not sentimental," Amelia remarked, almost fondly.

"One of our men _died_ getting this information," 'Hannah' informed them from where she was standing behind the detectives, frowning at them both. Amelia blinked slightly in surprise, having almost completely forgotten she was even in the room, "All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there's going to be a terror strike on London," she continued, "A big one".

Sherlock grabbed his black blazer from off the back of a nearby chair, pulling it on as he looked back in the mirror, "And what about John Watson?" he questioned, adjusting the jacket.

Amelia brightened at the mention of the doctor's name, eager to hear how he had been doing the past two years. She dearly hoped that things had improved for him since they had last seen him in the cemetery, speaking to Sherlock's fake grave, but she knew that it would have been very hard for him to have believed that he had lost both of his friends at the same time. She felt guilty just thinking about it, but they really hadn't had much choice.

Mycroft frowned, seeming surprised by the question, "John?"

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed, turning to look at him properly, "Have you see him?"

"Oh, yes," he began sarcastically, "We meet up every Friday for fish and chips," Amelia and Sherlock exchanged a quick look as he waved his hand at 'Hannah,' who stepped forward and handed Amelia a folder, "I've kept a weather eye on him, of course," he watched as Amelia flipped the file open, moving so that both she and Sherlock could see the contents clearly. There was two black and white surveillance photos of John with a quick report attached, but it was the photo of John with a rather impressive moustache that really caught their eyes, dating back only a few weeks ago, "You haven't been in touch at all, to prepare him?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, "Either of you?"

"No," Sherlock said distractedly, staring at the picture of John and his moustache with a slight grimace.

Amelia shook her head, balancing the folder in one hand as she picked up the picture for them to both see more clearly, looking rather appalled by the new bit of hair John seemed to think suited him, "We made a deal," she muttered, frowning deeply at the photo, "Sherlock and I both agreed to keep him completely in the dark until we could both tell him together".

Sherlock shook his head, waving a hand at the photo, "Well, we'll have to get rid of that".

"'We?'" Mycroft repeated, eyeing them with the same knowing look in his eyes again.

"Hmm," Amelia hummed in agreement, still looking appalled by the image, "Poor John, he really doesn't have the face that can pull off something so daring as a moustache," she commented, shaking her head, "It makes him look like he's aged over twenty years".

"We can't be seen wandering around with an old man," Sherlock nodded, plucking the picture and the folder easily from her hands, tucking the photo back into the file before tossing it onto Mycroft's desk. He turned back towards the mirror, fiddling with his blazer.

"Here," she rolled her eyes, moving around to stand in front of him, "Let me," she reached up and started tugging his jacket straight, before smoothing the fabric across his shoulders and his collar, "Two years goes by and you completely forget how to wear a blazer".

"I see you haven't," he replied, his eyes briefly running over her outfit. She looked…good, he supposed, but then again Amelia could always be counted on to look her very best in anything she wore.

She smiled cheekily, not missing the way his eyes had down a quick scan of her on no more than three times since she had stepped into the room. She met his eyes, "Why, thank you for noticing, Mr Holmes".

Mycroft made a noise in his throat that almost sounded like gagging, before giving 'Hannah' a quick nod. The other brunet woman turned on her heel and walked back across the room, disappearing out of the door and closing it behind her as he sighed, turning back to his brother and Amelia, "I see that Mr Cook has already slipped your mind, Amelia," he said to her knowingly.

She blinked, startled as she looked past Sherlock to him, "That is none of your business, Mycroft," she told him sharply, really not wanting to bring up all of _that_ right now.

"Mr Cook?" Sherlock frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing as they flickered quickly back and forth between them.

"He was a friend from the village I was living in," she explained, knowing that unless she did, Mycroft surely would _accidently_ let something else slip. She sighed, glancing back to Sherlock, "He had feelings for me and I…rejected him".

"I see," he said slowly, his eyes still narrowed as a frown crossed his face. He didn't seem to be overly pleased, but before Amelia had much time to even think more about his reaction, he had blinked and his expression had cleared, "I think we'll surprise John," he commented, suddenly changing the subject, "He'll be delighted!"

Amelia frowned slightly, "Um, I'm not so sure about that, Holmes…" she said warily. Whenever she pictured John's reaction, it always ended with someone getting punched or strangled, possibly even both.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, smiling slightly mockingly, "You think so?"

"Hmm," Sherlock nodded, adjusting the cuff of his blazer, "We'll pop into Baker Street, who knows…" he looked back to them and held his hands out at his sides with a shrug, "Jump out of a cake".

"Baker Street?" Mycroft frowned at him, "He isn't there anymore," Sherlock looked at him, surprised, while Amelia simply sighed sadly. She had suspected as much, "Why _would_ he be?" he continued, "It's been two years. He's got on with his life".

"And so he should have, too," Amelia commented, pleased to hear that John had managed to move forward, though it did make a weight drop into her stomach. Them just suddenly showing up couldn't possibly help him, it was really starting to worry her that she might have made a rather big mistake in not trying to drop John hints. She and Sherlock had both made the deal to wait until they had come back before telling him, Sherlock feeling that he might say something indiscreet and let the secret out while Amelia had rolled her eyes at that. She knew John wouldn't do that, but she had felt that the less people who did know, the better and so had agreed with Sherlock that they didn't say a word to anyone. She hated the thought of them coming back into John's life and completely destroying everything he had spent the past two years building for himself, it couldn't have been easy for him.

" _What_ life?" Sherlock asked, glancing back over to Amelia and Mycroft, "We've been away," Amelia rolled her eyes and she could tell that Mycroft was only just resisting doing the same, his arms crossed across his chest, "Where's he going to be tonight?" he stepped closer to his brother.

"How would _I_ know?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

He smiled faintly, "You _always_ know".

He didn't even bother to deny it, tilting his head, "He has dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road," he told them, and Amelia blinked in surprise. That was a nice restaurant; John wouldn't usually go there, not unless it was a date. A _very_ special date, "Nice little spot," he went on, "They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion…though I prefer the 2001".

Sherlock looked thoughtful, glancing at Amelia, "I think maybe we'll just drop by," he said casually.

Amelia frowned slightly, "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Holmes," she began carefully, not after hearing just _where_ John was planning to go, "Perhaps we should do this tomorrow, we don't want to interrupt anything…"

"Nonsense," he shook his head, cutting across her, "He'll be thrilled to see us, what could possibly be better than us coming back to life?"

"Oh, I can think of something," she muttered, sighing, but she could already tell that Sherlock was determined.

Sherlock looked back to Mycroft, "Now, where is it?"

"Where's what?" Mycroft questioned, doing a bad job of acting as if he didn't have a clue.

"You _know_ what".

The noise of high heels clicking against the concrete floor outside the office sounded before 'Hannah' stepped into the door way, right on cue, holding Sherlock's big black coat. Sherlock spun around to look, breaking into a delighted smile at the sight before he turned back around and slipped his arms into the coats sleaves, stooping slightly to let her lift it up over his shoulders. She even popped the collar up for him.

"Welcome back, Mr Holmes," she smiled as he straightened, looking over to Amelia, "And Miss Wilson".

"It's good to be back," Amelia smiled, already feeling herself slipping back into her old life as if she hadn't left it, as if she hadn't just spent the past two years as a music teacher and living in a small village. It was _wonderful_.

"Thank you…" Sherlock said, adjusting his coat collar, before turning to face his brother, "…blud," he nodded to him, actually holding out his elbow for Amelia, who happily linked her arm through his as they set off out of the room.

 _ **I'm sorry about the wait, I'm back at school now and things have been very busy, but I am trying to get up to date with my stories. Amelia's outfit will be up on my Tumblr and on my profile. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_

 _ **Guest reviews:**_

 _ **Guest:**_ _ **Aww, I'm so glad that you like the story, and I apologise for not updating sooner. It's my last year at high school, so things are very, very busy for me at the moment. Thanks for the review :)**_

 _ **LadyRedStar:**_ _ **I'm so happy that you liked it, and really? I'm afraid that I haven't read a Sherlock/OC story in ages, so I really wouldn't have a clue how other writers do it. I hope you enjoy this chapter, thanks for the review :)**_

 _ **Clarissa:**_ _ **And here it is, just a bit later then I had expected. I'm sorry about the wait and hope you liked it. Thanks for the review :)**_


	3. Chapter 3 The Empty Hearse, Part 2

_**The Empty Hearse, Part 2.**_

After a quick stop off for Sherlock to make himself look even more dramatic than usual by standing on the edge of a roof top, gazing out over the city as the final pink glows of the setting sun crossed the darkening sky, Amelia had finally been able to drag him away, having been standing well back from the edge with her blazer held tightly to her body. They had hailed a cab and set off for the Landmark Hotel in Marylebone Road, Sherlock pushing the cab door open as they arrived at the rather grand looking building and stepping out onto the pavement, Amelia climbing out close behind him.

"Perhaps this isn't the best idea," she sighed as Sherlock actually waited around long enough to pay for the cab.

"He'll love it," Sherlock said, utterly convinced, tucking his wallet back inside his coat as the cab pulled away from the curb.

"I really don't know about that".

He linked his arm with hers again; leading the way up to the glass front doors that where opened as they approached the doorman. They paused as they entered the large, lavish room and dropped their arms from each other, Sherlock pulling his coat off and passing it off to a member of staff waiting by the doors.

"Sir, ma'am," a dark haired man stepped towards them, the maitre d,' "May I help you?"

Sherlock barely even cast him a look, when a buzzing noise went off in the man's pocket, "You're wife just texted you," he deduced at once, glancing at him, "Possibly her contractions have started".

The man's eyes widened and he quickly reached into his pocket for his phone, checking it before hurrying off towards the front doors. Sherlock smirked smugly.

Amelia smiled at him, amused, "Impressive, Holmes".

"You noticed it too," he stated, looking back across to her.

Her smile widened, "Of course I did," she replied, and shrugged, "Expectant father. As deductions go, a rather tricky one to catch, I must admit," she turned her attention back to the restaurant before them, to all the people sitting at tables scattered around the room. She broke into a smile as she caught sight of John sitting at a table in the middle of the room, checking something in his inner jacket pocket before reaching out to pickup his glass of water. He was nervous and it really wasn't so hard to figure out just what he was so nervous about, he was here to propose. This really wasn't a good night to be doing this, "So…" she began, glancing back to Sherlock, who was eyeing John, "What's the plan? Though, I still think we should do this another time…"

Sherlock ignored her last comment, but before he could answer a waitress walked past them with a couple of menus in her hands, almost bumping into them, "'Scuse me, sir, ma'am," she muttered, continuing on her way.

He glanced at her, doing a quick double take as he realised that he was actually dressed similar to the waiting staff, a white shirt with black trousers and blazer, the only thing he was missing was a black bowtie. He turned back to Amelia, ducking his head slightly to bring his lips close against her ear, "That man over there with the yellow rose attached to his jacket…" he began quietly, nodding over to where a middle aged man was sitting alone at a table just off to the left of John's table, a rather large rose attached to the front of his blazer.

Amelia quickly found the man, "I see him," she murmured, eyeing the man carefully, "Judging by the rose, he's on a blind date," she swept her eyes quickly over the table before him, "He's been waiting for a while, he's completely drained his glass of water but hasn't yet ordered anything or even bothered to look at the menu. He's also checked his watch four times since we first entered and checked the entrance twice, so even though he's been waiting for a while he's still hopeful that she'll show…" she broke off, because Sherlock was suddenly a holding a large yellow rose under her nose, the lovely sweet fragrance of the flower wafting over her. She blinked, looking past the rose to him in surprise. She hadn't even noticed that he had ducked away somewhere while she had been speaking, "A rose?" she smiled broadly at him, taking the flower, "Oh, you shouldn't have".

"I think we can both agree that a yellow rose doesn't suit you," Sherlock remarked, surprising her once again. He plucked the rose from her fingers and carefully reached up to stick the flower into her hair at the top of her ponytail. She couldn't help but smile softly, feeling strangely touched by the gesture, "Red roses suit you better," he went on, lowering his hand from her head and letting it drop back to his side.

"Thank you," she said quietly, still smiling softly, "Are you ready for this?"

"Are you?"

"Of course".

His mouth twitched very slightly, "You had better go," he told her, nodding over towards the man with the matching yellow rose, "Your blind date is waiting".

"That's one of the last things I ever thought I would hear come from your mouth, Holmes," she laughed, shaking her head. She gave him one last reassuring smile before turning on her heel and making her way over towards the table that her apparent date was sitting, weaving through tables and carefully keeping her head ducked as she past by John's table, but he was luckily fiddling nervously with his silverware and not taking the slightest bit of notice of her. She reached the table, clearing her throat slightly as she fixed a bright smile onto her face, "Hi, I'm so sorry about being late," she said hurriedly, trying to make herself sound girly and breathless as she sat down across from the man, "I'm such an idiot, completely forgot what time we'd set…"

The man looked up and stared, actually _stared_ at her, as if he had never seen a woman before. Amelia struggled to hold back a grimace of mild disgust as she noticed the man's eyes roaming all over her body, once again reminded just why she hated dating so much. Men were so painfully obvious and this man seemed to be even worse than usual, though he was thankfully not completely outright ogling her chest. It was sad that she actually felt the urge to give him credit for that. She sighed and discreetly glanced over her shoulder to see that Sherlock was walking away from a table with a young woman and older man, the man seeming to be dabbing water from off his front with a napkin while Sherlock was busy fixing a bowtie around his neck. So, he had already struck and found himself a bowtie to complete his disguise as a waiter, he had acted quickly. It was almost impressive.

"Oh, uh…" the man, her charming date, finally seemed to come to his senses and pulled his eyes up to meet hers, "It's fine," he gave her an awkward smile, "You're here now".

"And you waited," Amelia fixed a slightly flirty smile onto her face, leaning towards him. Oh, the things that she did for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, "You're so sweet".

The man blushed bright red, "You…um…you look amazing," he blurted out suddenly.

"Oh, this?" she glanced down at herself, quickly casting a look over her shoulder to check on what Sherlock was up to. He had apparently found a pair of rounded glasses from somewhere and a menu. She quickly looked back to her date. He obviously didn't get out to much if he seemed to be finding it so hard to talk to her, she was certainly not _that_ pretty and she wasn't even wearing something she would consider to be formal. She gave a flirty little giggle, resting her elbow on the table and her chin on her open palm, gazing across to him, "Thank you so much, I just _couldn't_ find _anything_ to wear".

Amelia looked back over to Sherlock, resisting the urge to laugh as she watched as he walked over to where a group of woman were sitting at another table only a short distance away. Sherlock came up from behind one of the women and said something, trading the menu in his hands over for the menu that the woman was looking at. If she hadn't been looking so closely, she would never have noticed how he plucked a black eyeliner pen from the woman's open clutch bag sitting on the table beside her. He straightened and turned away, lifting the eyeliner up to his face and drawing a little moustache onto his upper lip. He looked ridiculous, in the glasses, bowtie, and now the fake moustache and she just couldn't help the little laugh that escaped her.

Her date frowned slightly, "Are…are you looking for someone?" he asked, sounding worried.

Amelia's head snapped back him, startled, "Of course not!" she giggled, reaching over to lightly hit his arm, desperately trying to make herself sound like one of the airhead girls that she used to see all the time when she went clubbing in university. They had always sickened her, seeing how they had fallen all over boys and giggled over the slightest thing. Personally, she had always considered intelligence to be sexy, even if that meant she and Irene Alder had something else in common, "Oh, you silly thing, you," she said girlishly, and was pleased to see that her date actually seemed to find her fake persona endearing, though she personally couldn't see _why_.

"Are you sure?" he stilled seemed a little concerned.

"Yeah, completely sure," she nodded, "I just thought I saw someone I recognised. Why don't you tell me about yourself?" she suggested, hopeful that it would be a good distraction.

Thankfully, he seemed more than happy to comply and began chatting about something that she smiled and politely nodded to, his words simply washing over her. She glanced back over to Sherlock and found him standing by John's table, right behind John's chair, in fact, holding the menu in his hands and the eyeliner in his hand like a pen.

"Can I 'elp you with anything, sir?" Sherlock asked John, putting on a slightly nasally French accent. Amelia's eyebrows rose, resisting the urge to laugh. Her mother had been French and that was quite possibly one of the worst French accents she had ever heard, and why on Earth did he have to make himself sound so nasally?

"Hi, yeah," John nodded, his eyes fixed on the menu in his hands with a small frown, not even glancing back to Sherlock, "I'm looking for a bottle of champagne, a good one".

Champagne, a fancy restaurant, John nervous, John fiddling with something in his pocket. Dear Lord, could their timing possibly be any _worse_? Amelia wanted to just jump up and grab Sherlock by his bowtie and drag him out of the building right then and there, before John noticed anything about his helpful server, but she knew that she couldn't. It would cause a scene which really would catch even John's attention. She couldn't believe Sherlock hadn't even worked it out yet, either that or he had worked it out and he was still going through the damn plan, in which case he completely dissevered whatever John did to him.

"Mmm!" Sherlock leaned closer to him, waving his hand around with the eyeliner in it at the menu in John's hand, "Well, these are all excellent vintages".

He nodded, still frowning at the menu, "Er, it's not really my area," he admitted, "What do you suggest?"

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you'd like my _personal_ recommendation…" he trailed off, trying to get him to look up to him.

"Mm-hm," John nodded again, not looking up.

Amelia sighed, shaking her head slightly. She quickly glanced back to her date, who, much to her amazement, was _still_ talking. He liked cars, apparently, so much so that he hadn't even noticed that she was completely ignoring him. She smiled at him, which only seemed to urge him on, before turning her attention swiftly back to Sherlock and John.

Sherlock gestured with the eyeliner towards something on the menu list in John's hands, "…this last one on the list is a favourite of mine," he informed him, still keeping the accent going, but still John didn't turn his head to look at him, "It is, you might in fact say…like a face from ze past," he whipped his glasses off his face and stood, waiting dramatically, staring down at John expectantly.

"Great," John said, picking up his wine glass that was half full of red wine. He still didn't look up, "I'll have that one, please," he told him, finishing off his wine in one big gulp.

"This is like watching a train wreck," Amelia muttered, shaking her head in disbelief and amazement that still, John hadn't looked up to see Sherlock. And her date was _still talking about cars_! How was that even possible to be _so_ oblivious?

Sherlock seemed quite startled himself that John still hadn't looked around to him, "It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of _surprise_!" he tried again, holding his arms out like a game show host.

John was too busy grimacing at the taste of his wine, before handed the wine list back to Sherlock, not even glancing back to him as he did so, "Well, er, surprise me," he said to him, taking a deep breath.

Sherlock snatched the wine list out of his hand, rolling his eyes in annoyance, "Certainly endeavouring to, sir," he mumbled, and began to walk away towards the bar, catching Amelia's eye as he did so.

Amelia quickly shook her head and mouthed, 'no!' to him, hoping to get it through to him that this wasn't a good idea, that they shouldn't be doing this tonight when John already had something important planned. Sadly, Sherlock simply smirked at her and continued on his way, leaving her glaring after him. Honestly, what did she ever see in him? He never listened to a word she said, she would have better luck telling a door not to open and close.

"Sorry that took so long," a woman's voice caught Amelia's attention, and she pulled her gaze off Sherlock's retreating back to see that a woman had arrived at John's table. The woman was a few years older than herself, with short blonde hair and wearing a pretty purple dress with black beaded detailing of some sort of leaves. The woman took the seat across from John and smiled at him, John looking slightly flustered, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," John said hurriedly, smiling back at her, "Me? Fine. I am _fine_ ".

Amelia couldn't help smiling fondly as she watched them, finding the delighted, flustered smile on John's face rather adorable to witness. Of all the times she had seen John with someone before, not once had she seen him look just so…happy. It was a truly wonderful sight.

"Excuse me," Amelia blinked, startled slightly as she looked back to her date that she had almost forgotten was even there. He was standing from his chair, smiling awkwardly at her, "I'll be right back".

"Hurry back!" she cooed at him, slipping easily into the girly persona again, watching as he left in the direction of the bathrooms before quickly turning back to John and his own date, who she very much needed to learn the name of.

"Now then," the blonde woman began, smiling back at John, "What did you want to ask me?"

John swallowed nervously, "More wine?" he asked.

"No, I'm good with water, thanks".

"Right," he looked away briefly, his eyes flickering off to the side where Amelia was sitting. She froze, her eyes widening, certain that he had actually seen her, but then he blinked and turned back to his date. She sighed in relief.

"So…" the woman trailed off.

"Er, so…Mary. Listen, erm…" he paused, seeming to be struggling to try and find the right words, "I know it hasn't been long…I mean, I know we haven't known each other for a long time…" he looked down for a long moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

Amelia whistled lowly, shaking her head, amused. She had been wrong, seeing Sherlock trying to get John to look at him hadn't been like watching a train wreck, _this_ was the train wretch. Poor John was so painfully nervous that she just wanted to go over to him and hug him. She actually felt sorry for him, but she still found it to be adorable and just a little bit awkward.

"Go on," the woman, Mary, encouraged John.

"Yes, I will," John nodded, looking down for another long moment to gather his thoughts, before lifting his head and looking back up to her, "As you know, these last couple of years haven't been easy for me, and meeting _you_ …" he paused, looking at her, nodding, "Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened".

"I agree," Mary cut in with a smile.

"What?"

"I agree I'm the best thing that could have happened to you," she told him, and John laughed. Amelia laughed softly to herself, already liking Mary, she was just what John needed in a woman and she had been saying for ages that she needed more girl friends to spend time with. Mary smiled at John, "Sorry," she said, seeming a little embarrassed.

"Well, no," John shook his head, his face slightly pink as his laughter faded, "That's, um…" he paused and looked back up to her, "So…if you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um…" Mary laughed softly, seeming to have caught on to just what he was actually trying to say. He cleared his throat loudly as she continued to giggle, "If you could see your way too…" he tried again.

Suddenly, Sherlock swopped back in with a bottle of champagne in hand, still wearing his ridiculous disguise as he leaned over the table. Amelia groaned and covered her face. This really wasn't John's night, was it?

Sir," Sherlock said hurriedly in his French accent, holding the champagne bottle out to John, "I think you'll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking," Mary covered the side of her face with her hand to hide her laughter from their 'waiter,' while he continued to prattle on, "It 'as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new…"

"How much more awkward can this thing get?" Amelia muttered in disbelief, shaking her head. She really was quite amazed just how many things had gone wrong in one night.

"No, sorry," John told Sherlock, his eyes still locked on Mary's, trying hard to shake off their 'waiter,' "Not now, please".

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers…" Sherlock went on, ignoring John, "Suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of an old friend," he reached up and pulled his glasses off.

"No, look, seriously…" he finally looked up to Sherlock, "…could you just…" he trailed off, his entire body jolting in shock and disbelief, staring up at him, actually _seeing_ him.

Amelia swallowed and stood from her chair, feeling her heart racing in her chest as she made her way over to Sherlock's side, looking at John, "Not to make this even more awkward…" she began warily, biting her lower lip guiltily, "But hello, old friend".

John very nearly fell out of his chair coming face to face with not just one of his supposedly dead friends, but both of them. His face paled, as if he had just seen a ghost, which Amelia supposed to him he just had, and he couldn't seem to workout which one of them to look at at any given moment.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo," Sherlock remarked, dropping the French accent, "Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters".

John looked back to Mary, who was looking very confused and concerned. His eyes filled with tears as he ducked his head for a moment before standing from his chair, stumbling clumsily on his own feet. Amelia automatically reached out to grab his arm to try and help right him, but he flinched back from her so violently that he very nearly sent his chair flying backwards across the floor.

"Right," she winced apologetically, lowering her hand quickly as she eyed John worriedly. She should have known this would happen, she should have insisted even more that they wait until John was back home and away from public attention, "Sorry, John," she said, guilt written across her face, "Truly, I am so very sorry".

"John?" Mary asked, her concern growing as she watched him straighten, his breathing erratic as he slowly looked back up to Sherlock and Amelia, locking gazes with them for a second before looking back down, seeming to be unable to quite look at them. She frowned at him, very confused and worried, "John, what is it? What?" she tried again, but John didn't answer as he ducked his head again, looking completely shocked.

"Well, short version…" Sherlock began, sitting the champagne bottle down the table, bringing his hands together down his front. He looked back to John, who had finally lifted his eyes back up to them, "Not dead".

John stared back at them, his eyes filled with pain and grief, but slowly all of that seemed to start to be replaced by anger while the shock started to fade.

Amelia swallowed, feeling the anger practically rolling off him in waves, "This really wasn't how we should have done this," she sighed, throwing Sherlock a pointed look, feeling her guilt getting worse with every second that she looked at John.

Sherlock actually had the decency to look a bit guilty, "Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know," he admitted, turning back to John, "Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was _very_ funny," he laughed nervously, avoiding John's murderous eyes.

"Probably should have stopped while you were ahead, Holmes," Amelia muttered, wincing as she shifted awkwardly under John's gaze. This was even worse then she had thought, but at least no punches had been thrown…yet.

Mary's eyes widened, stunned as she finally caught on, "Oh, no," she breathed faintly, looking back and forth between the detectives, "You're…"

Sherlock glanced at her, "Oh, yes".

"Oh, my God!"

"Not quite".

"Sherlock…" Amelia rolled her eyes.

"You _died_ ," Mary shook her head, shocked, "You _both_ died," she stared at them, horror crossing her face, "You drowned…" she pointed at Amelia before moving her finger across to Sherlock, "And you jumped off a roof".

"No," Sherlock said simply.

" _Almost_ drowned," Amelia corrected, glancing back to her with an apologetic smile, "I was fortunately revived".

"You're dead!" Mary exclaimed, still sounding rather faint.

"No," Sherlock looked back to her, "I'm quite sure. I checked…"

"Let's not go there," Amelia shifted again, feeling a blush creeping up her neck as she recalled the kiss. That certainly was one way to make sure that you really were still alive.

He shot her a quick look, seeming to already know where her mind had jumped to, "Excuse me," he said to Mary, and picked up a napkin from the table and dipped one of the corners into Mary's glass of water, looking back to John as he wiped his penned moustache off his upper lip, leaving his skin pink, "Does…does yours rub off too?" he asked him, trying hard to sound casual under John's intense glare.

Amelia resisted the urge to take a step back from John as his mouth thinned into a tight, furious smile. She put a hand on Sherlock's arm, "Not a time for jokes, Sherlock," she warned hastily.

"Oh my God!" Mary gasped, appalled, "Oh my God! Do you have _any_ idea what you've done to him?"

"Yes," the brunet nodded, looking back to her, swallowing, "We…I do, actually, and there is nothing I could possibly ever do or say to make up for it".

"Okay, John…" Sherlock said nervously, lowering his head from under John's furious glare, "I'm suddenly realising I probably owe you some sort of apology…"

John suddenly slammed his clenched fist down onto the table, cutting Sherlock off. The entire table shook, very nearly breaking the glasses as the water sloshed dangerously around inside. He hunched over, trying hard to just keep breathing as he closed his eyes tightly. Amelia and Sherlock exchanged a nervous look.

"All right, just…" Mary tried to calm him down, watching him worriedly, so far managing to avoid drawing any attention to their table, "John, just keep…"

John drew in a shaky breath before looking back up to them, "Two years," he said in a strangled whisper. He shook his head, taking another deep breath and releasing it as he looked back up to Sherlock and Amelia, "Two years…hmm?" he groaned, his shoulders slumping, struggling to get the word out, "I thought…" he moaned again, gesturing helplessly as Mary looked at him sympathetically. Amelia winced, ducking her head, "I thought…you were both dead," he swallowed thickly, looking back up to them, breathing hard as his eyes filled with anger again, "Hmm?" he raised his eyebrows at them, looking back and forth between them accusingly, "Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?" he demanded, glaring at them as Sherlock looked down, biting his lip guiltily and a pained expression crossed Amelia's face, " _How_?" he repeated in a furious whisper.

"Wait," Sherlock began hastily, holding up a hand, "Before you do anything that you might regret…"

"Or might _not_ regret," Amelia muttered warily, eyeing John as his glare grew even more intense with anger, if that was even possible. She was quite shocked that steam wasn't shooting out of his nose and ears right about now.

He shifted slightly on the spot; his hand still raised, "Um, one question," he continued, speaking fast, "Just let me ask one question. Um…" he suddenly broke into a broad smile, looking close to giggling as he gestured up towards his still pinkish upper lip, "Are you really going to keep that?" he asked him, glancing at Mary, who laughed in disbelief.

"Oh, God," the brunet breathed, horrified that he had seriously, at a time like this, just asked John about his bloody _moustache_.

John took a long, deep breath and suddenly threw himself at Sherlock, grabbing him by his lapels and shoving him backwards across the restaurant. Amelia gasped and leaped out of the way as the grin on Sherlock's face vanished, his eyes widening as he was practically thrown onto the floor by John as he furiously began trying to throttle him, his hands wrapping around his throat. All the while waiters and Mary and Amelia tried to pull them apart before anyone could actually be killed, which seemed highly likely with the look of murderous rage on John's face right about now…

…

Thankfully, John didn't end up killing Sherlock, though he had left several nasty bruises on Sherlock's throat that he was keeping hidden by his scarf and upturned coat collar. Needless to say all four of them had now been banned from the restaurant and the manager had threatened to call the police on them, and so they had been forced to relocate to a small café just around the corner. Sherlock and Amelia sat on one side of the table, looking back across to where John and Mary where sitting on the other side, their arms crossed across their chests, their expressions hard.

"I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty onto the roof," Sherlock started to explain, his hands and fingers pressed together just beneath his chin, "I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags…"

"How you thought that would actually work in real life, I have no idea," Amelia commented, shaking her head. The idea sounded completely absurd to her, something that you would only see happen in a kid's cartoon or action movie that tended to ignore the laws of physics for the purpose of looking impressive to the audience.

John's eyes narrowed, focusing on her, "So you were in on _all_ of it?" he asked, his voice carrying a steely note in it, "It wasn't _just_ him…" he threw Sherlock a angry glare before turning back to Amelia, "It was _you_ , too?"

She winced, shifting awkwardly in her chair, "I'm so sorry, John," she said quietly, wishing he would stop looking at her like that, with so much anger and, well, hurt. Still, she couldn't say she was surprised and he did have every right to feel like he did with them.

Sherlock cleared his throat, drawing some of the attention off Amelia, "As Amelia said, that idea was impossible," he agreed, trying to get back on track, "The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling…"

"You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick," John cut across him, his expression growing hard again.

"What?" he blinked, confused.

"I don't care how you two faked it," he told him tightly, "I wanna know _why_ ".

"Why?" he frowned, bewildered that he would even ask such a question, "Because Moriarty had to be stopped…."

Amelia placed a hand on his arm, glancing at John's expression, noting the frustration on his face, "That's not what he means, Holmes," she said softly.

He looked back John and finally noticed his expression, "Oh," he said slowly, nodding in realisation, "' _Why_ ,' as in…" he pointed at John, who nodded at him, "I see," he looked down at the red and white plastic check table cloth for a moment, before lifting his eyes back up to him, "Yes. 'Why?' That's a little more difficult to explain".

"I've got all night," John said darkly.

"Well, technically, it was mostly Mycroft's idea," Amelia informed him, almost blurting the words out.

"Oh, so it's his _brother's_ plan?" he asked in an eerily calm voice, pointing a finger at Sherlock.

"Oh, they both would have needed a confidant…" Mary spoke up, glancing at John as she gestured to Sherlock and Amelia. Sherlock hummed in agreement as Amelia looked at her in surprise, not having expected her to actually defend them. John, on the other hand, simply stared at her as if he had never seen her before, making her grimace slightly apologetically and lower her hand, "Sorry," she told him, slightly sheepishly, before crossing her arms back across her chest and looking down.

John turned back to Sherlock and Amelia, "But he was the _only_ one?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at them, "The only one who _knew_?"

"Well…" Amelia trailed off, glancing at Sherlock, biting her bottom lip.

Sherlock briefly closed his eyes, "Couple of others," he admitted, almost as if he was forcing the words out, looking back to John, who ducked his head, "It was a very elaborate plan, it had to be," he quickly went on, taking a deep breath, "The next of the thirteen possibilities…"

"Who else?" John sighed heavily, lifting his head to look back up to them, "Who else knew?" Sherlock and Amelia hesitated, exchanging a uncertain look, " _Who_?" he demanded, annoyed.

"Molly," Amelia answered, cringing. She knew that he wouldn't be happy about this one.

"Molly?" he exclaimed angrily.

"John…" Mary warned softly, seeing him getting worked up all over again.

"Molly Hooper," Sherlock continued hurriedly, looking directly at John, "And some of my homeless network, and that's all".

"For him, anyway," Amelia muttered, recalling her own rescue from the car that her brother had tried to drown her in. There had even been a two man diving crew and two paramedics involved in her fake death, though, she really didn't think that John needed to hear all about that right now.

"Okay," John nodded, sitting up straighter in his chair and glancing at Mary, who gave him a small, sympathetic smile. He looked back to them, focusing on Sherlock, "Okay. So just your brother, and Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps".

"No!" Sherlock laughed, shaking his head before turning serious, "Twenty five at the most".

John was on his feet in seconds and pushing his chair back as he practically hurled himself across the table at Sherlock, grabbing him by his shoulders as knives and folks clattered onto the floor.

"John!" Amelia shouted, her eyes widening in alarm.

….

And so, after yet another fight which involved John hitting Sherlock and splitting his lower lip, they found themselves standing in the small kebab shop that was just across road from the café that they were now also banned from. John and Mary stood beside each other, leaning with their backs against the counter, purposely avoiding looking at either Sherlock or Amelia as they stood opposite them. Amelia was holding Sherlock's coat folded over her arm, watching as he dabbed at the faintly bleeding cut on his lower lip with a tissue that she had retrieved from her handbag. He pulled the tissue back and glanced at the blood, wincing as he pressed it back against his lip.

"It could have been worse," Amelia remarked to him, trying to sound positive as she held back a sympathetic cringe. It had been a fairly good punch, though it probably would have been a lot worse had she not been hanging on to John's arm, trying to stop him.

"The nights still young," Sherlock muttered, loud enough so that only she could hear. He looked around her to where John was still avoiding looking at them, "Seriously, it's not a joke?" he asked him with a frown, pulling the tissue away and gesturing up to his own top lip. John finally looked at him, "You're…you're really keeping this?"

John cleared his throat, "Yeah," he nodded, shifting slightly awkwardly on the spot. He almost seemed embarrassed now that he had calmed down after trying to kill Sherlock. Again.

He nodded, as if accepting it, before…"Sure?" he narrowed his eyes.

"Mary likes it".

"Mmmmmm, no, she doesn't".

"Sherlock…" Amelia said, her tone warning as she glanced warily at John. The last thing she wanted was for yet another fight to break out.

John didn't even blink, "She's does," he told him, seeming to be completely certain.

"She doesn't," Sherlock argued, looking away from him and lifting the tissue back up to dab at his lip.

John glanced over to Mary, only to do a double take when she didn't say anything. She hastily opened her mouth, avoiding meeting his eyes as she muttered something to low for anyone to actually understand, "Oh!" he exclaimed, embarrassedly trying to cover his moustache with his hand, realising that it was true, "Brilliant".

"I'm sorry," Mary sighed, cringing slightly, looking rather embarrassed herself at having been outed, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you…"

"No, no, this is charming," he said sarcastically, pointing angrily back to Sherlock with a glare, "I've really missed _this_!"

"Let's just forget about it," Amelia cut in calmly, raising her voice slightly to be heard over John, "There's more important things to be discussing right now, so let's focus on those," she gave Sherlock a pointed. If he hadn't kept bringing up that damn moustache, perhaps they could have been sitting down in that café still, drinking tea and coffee rather then this kebab shop that was giving her flashbacks to her university days.

Silence fell over their little group for a moment, before John stepped closer to Sherlock and Amelia, glaring furiously at them both, "One word, from either of you," he hissed, looking back and forth between them, "That is _all_ I would have needed. _One_ word to let me know that you were alive!" he took a step back, breathing heavily.

Amelia closed her eyes, wincing, "You have no idea how much I…" she paused, glancing at Sherlock, who gave her a small nod, "How much we _both_ wanted to contact you," she corrected herself, looking back to John, "You have no idea how close I came to sending you a message these last two Christmases, or even just a simple text on your birthday, but…"

John cut her off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he refused to look at either her or Sherlock again, his eyes fixed on the floor. He knew them, he knew Amelia and he knew that if she had really wanted to send him a message, then she would have.

Sherlock cleared his throat, placing an almost comforting hand on Amelia's shoulder as hurt crossed her face, "I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet," he explained to him, "Amelia disagreed…"

"Oh, no," Amelia breathed, looking nervously at John.

His head snapped back up to stare at them, "What?"

"You know, let the cat out of the bag…" he continued, shrugging.

He stepped closer to them again, "Oh, so this is my fault?" he snapped.

"Oh, God!" Mary laughed in disbelief, tilting her head back and closing her eyes in exasperation at how upset John was getting over the whole thing.

"Why am I the only one who thinks this is wrong?" John shouted angrily, looking back to her, "The only one reacting like a human being?"

" _Over_ -reacting," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Amelia groaned, putting her head in her hands, "You just don't know when to stop talking, do you, Holmes?"

"'Over-reacting!'" John repeated loudly, furious.

"John!" Mary called, trying to get him to calm down and stop shouting as everyone in the shop stared at them.

"'Over-reacting!'" he continued shouting, turning back to glare at Sherlock, completely ignoring the attention that they had drawn to themselves, "So you two fake your own deaths…"

"Shh!" Sherlock tried to hush him as Amelia warily cast a look around them.

"And you two waltz in 'ere, large as bloody life…"

"Shh!"

"John!" Amelia hissed, but he simply continued on with his rant.

He stepped closer to them, dropping his voice very slightly, "…but I'm not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson think it's a perfectly OKAY THING TO DO!" he finished off yelling.

"Shut up, John!" Sherlock shouted at him, finally getting the chance, "We don't want everyone knowing we're still alive!"

"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it?" he demanded furiously.

"Yes! It's still a secret," he looked around at the other customers and staff in the shop, some of whom now trying to pretend as if they weren't listening in. He glanced back at John, "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Swear to God!" John shouted sarcastically, before pausing, some of his anger fading as he noticed that the customers around them were exchanging uncomfortable looks. He took a step back, releasing a loud sigh.

Amelia shifted awkwardly, taking a deep breath, "John," she began carefully, making him look back to her, his expression still tight, "I really don't blame you for being so upset, but right now we need you to listen. Please, just for a moment," she half pleaded, licking her lips as she quickly cast a look around the room, before turning back to him and lowering her voice, "There's going to be a terrorist attack in London, possibly within the next few days. London is in danger, John, very grave danger".

"We need your help," Sherlock added seriously, his voice soft.

John's eyes widened and he looked over to Mary, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing before he turned back to them, "My help?"

Sherlock eyed him, slowly smirking, "You _have_ missed this," he remarked, "Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world…"

John grabbed him by his lapels and reeled his head back, a murderous expression on his face…

….

And so, for hopefully the last time that night, they found themselves kicked out of the kebab shop and out onto the chilly street. Sherlock's nose was bleeding heavily as he tried to stop the flow by holding a thick wad of tissues and napkins against his nostrils after John had head butted him and then proceeded to try strangling him once more, until Mary and Amelia were able to pull them apart. Amelia sighed slightly as she noticed that in the struggle some of the blood had splattered onto her white blazer and pale blue dress, no doubt staining them both. It was a shame; she really did love this outfit, too.

"I don't understand," Sherlock winced slightly, his voice sounding very congested. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, tilting his head back, still using his other hand to hold the tissues beneath his nose, "I said I'm sorry. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"Lower your head," Amelia sighed, placing a hand on his arm, "Putting your head back with a blood nose will only make the blood run down your throat and make you feel worse. You need to let the blood run out, not back in".

He looked back to her, "Since when are you a nurse?"

"Since I had to play school teacher for the past two years," she replied, "Doing yard duty means dealing with kids getting hurt, blood noses being common. I'm right, aren't I, Mary?" she glanced at the blonde woman.

"She's right," Mary agreed, and Sherlock sighed but still bent over slightly with his head down. She shook her head, thinking about his question about what he had done wrong to earn a blood nose in the first place, "Gosh, you don't know anything about human nature, do you?" she asked.

"Hmm, nature?" he paused, as if thinking about it, "No. Human?" he glanced back up to her, smirking behind the tissues, "No".

Mary smiled, glancing at Amelia, who laughed and shook her head, almost fondly. She cast a quick look over her shoulder to see that John had hailed a cab and was standing several feet away, by the curb, watching them with a frown, "I'll talk him round," she told them, turning back.

Sherlock and Amelia both blinked, surprised, "You will?" he said curiously, lowering the tissues.

"Oh, yeah," she nodded, her smile broadening.

Amelia couldn't help it, but she was surprised that Mary would be so, well, understanding. Her reaction to them being alive was not at all the type of reaction that a person would usually have, which made her all the more curious about just who this woman was. It was easy enough for her to deduce from a simple glance of her that she was a size 12, a nurse, short sighted, and an only child…but the most curious thing that just kept popping up the more that she tried to figure her out was that she was a liar. A liar of what, she didn't have a clue, it was too early to get enough data like that to read. Still, she liked Mary, she couldn't help it, she just did and whatever she was hiding, she was almost positive that they would figure it out, hopefully it was just a small lie but in her line of work, she supposed there really wasn't such a thing as a small lie.

"Mary?" John called over to them, opening the back door of the cab and standing back, waiting.

Mary looked back to them and gave them one last smile, before turning and heading over to join John. They climbed into the cab while Sherlock and Amelia watched as it drove off down the street, disappearing from sight.

Amelia lifted her hand in a wave, glancing out of the corner of her eye to Sherlock, who was frowning very slightly, "Did you notice that she's a liar?" she asked him curiously.

"Of course," he replied, pressing the tissue back against his nose, but he didn't elaborate further. She suspected it was probably because he was just as clueless as her, but didn't want to admit it.

She looked at him properly and reached out to touch his arm, making him look back to her, "John can't stay angry at us forever," she said softly, trying to give him a reassuring smile, "He'll come around, he always does. He forgave me when I lied about my brother, he can forgive this".

"Hmm, just how many more times will I have to be strangled first?" he said thoughtfully, wincing as he dabbed at his nose as it began bleeding again.

"Come on," she smiled, taking his free hand, making him blink in mild surprise. She was never so touchy two years ago, especially not to him. It was a strange development, "Let's get you cleaned up, you look awful".

"Thank you," he said sarcastically.

She shook her head but didn't bother to respond, simply continuing to lead him off down the footpath, her heels clicking as they went.

…

It had been a long day for Molly Hooper and she couldn't have been more happy to see that her shift at Bart's hospital was finally over and that she would have the next two days completely to herself. She walked down the hallway of the hospital to the locker room, wincing slightly as she rubbed at her shoulder as it arched after spending the day hunched over at her computer, getting some paperwork down. She stepped into the small room and headed straight over to the back wall where her locker was, retrieving her keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. She pulled it open, only to look up and gasp as, in the mirror on the inside of the locker door, she caught sight of Amelia and Sherlock's reflections smiling back at her. She whirled around to find the pair standing a few steps behind her and couldn't help the wide smile that crossed her face, delighted to see them again.

"Molly!" Amelia cried, laughing as she threw her arms around the shorter woman.

"Amelia," Molly smiled, hugging her back before they pulled apart, her eyes moving to rest on Sherlock, who still remained slightly back from them, his hands clasped together behind his back, "Hello, Sherlock," she said with a small smile.

"Molly," he nodded to her.

….

Lestrade was making his way across an underground parking garage, searching through his pockets for something as he went. He paused for a brief moment and frowned, listening as for a brief moment he had thought he had heard the sound of high heels clicking on concrete floor, but when the sound didn't come again, he shook his head and continued patting his pockets down. Suddenly, something metallic clattered loudly from the shadows behind him and he stopped again, looking back over his shoulder, but there was nothing there. He went back to his search and finally found what he was looking for, his box of cigarettes and a lighter. He grabbed one and stuck it in his mouth, lifting his lighter and flicking the flame on, moving it up towards the end of his cigarette…

"Those thing'll kill you," a male voice came from out of the darkness, making Lestrade freeze, just about to lit the cigarette, staring ahead of him as he tried to work out if he had seriously just heard that voice.

"And in a parking garage?" another voice spoke through the darkness, this time a woman's that carried a light Irish accent. Lestrade's eyes widened, "Really, Lestrade, how high school of you to be sneaking around, smoking".

He flickered the lighter, cutting off the flame, "Ooh, you bastard!" he said around his cigarette, reaching up to pulling it out of his mouth as he turned to look into the shadows where their voices had come from, "And you little…"

A feminine laugh sounded, "Best not to finish that sentence, I think," she warned him playfully.

"It's time to come back," Sherlock remarked as he and Amelia both stepped out of the shadows towards Lestrade, "You've been letting things slide, Graham".

"Greg!" Lestrade corrected, exasperated.

"It's _Greg_ , Holmes," Amelia said at the same time, shaking her head.

Sherlock blinked, looking slightly thrown, "Greg," he corrected himself, practically already forgetting it.

Lestrade looked back and forth between them for a moment, looking for one brief moment as if he might actually punch Sherlock. He began to move towards them both when…he suddenly lunged at them and wrapped his arms around them both, almost knocking their heads together as Sherlock groaned as his ribs arched painfully and Amelia blinked, quite startled to find herself being hugged so tightly, pressed very closely against Sherlock's side. Of course, neither of them said a word or even tried to break free, Amelia going so far as to awkwardly pat Lestrade on his back as she managed to get her arm free. Quite frankly, they were both too relieved that another fight hadn't occurred to be too picky about how Lestrade showed his happiness about their return. Though, if he tried to kiss Amelia, that was where she was going to have draw the line, as much as she might have loved Lestrade, it just simply didn't extend that far.

….

It was almost midnight and Mrs Hudson was standing by her kitchen sink with a pair of purple gloves on, washing up her pan before heading off to bed. The radio was going in the background and she listened to it absently as she scrubbed at the pan's surface.

"…with an anti-terrorism bill this important," the male news reporter was saying over the radio, "The government feels duty bound to push through the legislation with due expe…"

She froze as a noise came from outside in the hall, like the front door being opened. She leant over and switched the radio off as another bang sounded, followed by what sounded like a muffled voice, though it was too low for her to even be able to tell the gender. She hastily grabbed the pan from the sink, dripping water all across her floor as she carried it with her through her flat and over to her front door, slowly reaching up to unlock it. It creaked loudly as she pulled it open, still wearing her rubber gloves as she carefully stepped out into the dimly lit entrance hall, her pan raised as a weapon before her.

The front door swung shut as she looked ahead to where a frost pane of glass was on the internal door, only for her eyes to widen in shock and disbelief a silhouette of a very familiar, curly haired man and another silhouette of a woman with her hair tied back appeared. The man opened the door and none other than Sherlock Holmes and, just behind him, Amelia Wilson stepped into view.

Mrs Hudson began screaming in completely shock, dropping the pan.

…

It had taken both Amelia and Sherlock some time to calm Mrs Hudson down, well, more like it had taken Amelia some time, Sherlock had stuck around for five minutes before disappearing upstairs to check on his flat. Thankfully, Mrs Hudson decided to head to bed and Amelia was given the chance to make her own escape, feeling thoroughly tired now as she half dragged herself up the wooden staircase, but she wasn't so tired that she couldn't manage a broad smile as she stepped into Sherlock's living room to find it exactly the same as it had been two years, be it covered with a thick layer of dust. Sherlock had already plopped down in his armchair by the fireplace, not seeming to be the slightest bit concerned by the dust as he sat with his finger tips pressed together just beneath his chin, his eyes closed.

Amelia pulled her blazer off and left it lying on the arm of couch. It didn't matter now if it got dirty, it already had blood on it. She took her shoes off and left them by the coffee table as she headed off through the kitchen and down the hallway, stepping into the bathroom. She easily found the first aid kit that John had insured was stocked with everything, from a stitchers kit to even a drug testing kit in case Sherlock started using again. She grabbed a bottle of antiseptic cream and a few sterile cotton swabs. She made her way back out to the living room to find Sherlock in exactly the same position that he had been when she left, and shook her head.

"Stop pretending as if you don't know what I'm going to do," she sighed, balancing the medical supplies in her hands.

His eyes cracked open and he looked up at her, letting his hands drop down to rest on the armrests on his chair, "I don't need that," he told her, nodding to the supplies.

"Holmes, I'm tired, therefore I don't have the patience to deal with your charming personality right now and would much rather be currently organising a hotel room so that I can sleep, but I would be a pretty rubbish friend if I didn't tend to that cut lip".

He let out a long suffering sigh, "Fine".

Amelia stepped forward and moved his right arm from off the armrest so that she could sit down on it. She placed the medical supplies on the small table beside her and unscrewed the creams lid before removing the cotton swab from its plastic covering, dipping it into the cream and turning back to Sherlock, who was watching her. Had she not been so used to that unnerving stare of his that seemed to see right through a person, she might have been slightly nervous, but she was used to him now and simply reached forward to gently lift his chin up so that she could get his head on an angle so that she could work.

"This will sting," she warned as she tried hard to be gentle as she brushed the swab onto the cut on his lip. He simply rolled his eyes at her, as if that was obviously, though he did still hiss very slightly when she first touched the cut, "Sorry," she muttered, meeting his eyes briefly. She finished as quickly as she could and even though he probably had been right, she did feel slightly better for having tried to help him, "There we go, finished".

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked suddenly.

She frowned slightly, glancing back over to him as she began screwing the lid back on the cream and rolled the used swab up in its wrappers, "I'm sorry?"

"Being a teacher," he clarified, seeming to be genuinely curious.

"Oh, well, yes," she paused, turning back to face him properly, crossing her legs as she carefully maintained her balance on the chair arm, "It was harder than I expected and there was more work then I had imagined, but it was nice to see those kids learn," she smiled faintly, almost proudly, "And it was very satisfying knowing that I had helped them to learn".

"Thinking about giving up detective work?"

"No," she shook her head, laughing at the idea, "Goodness, no. Teaching was enjoyable, but it was still just a job. Detective work, that's my true calling, my passion".

"I'm sure that Robert Cook will be very disappointed to hear that," Sherlock remarked casually, far too casually for Amelia's comfort.

Amelia frowned deeply, something not sounding completely right, and then it clicked into place, "Hang on…I never mentioned Robert's first name," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes at him, "There's no way for you to know that, unless…" she sighed, closing her in exasperation, "Mycroft. He would have a file on him, so you got him to send you a copy…" Sherlock stood suddenly, so suddenly that she very nearly toppled right off the armrest before she managed to catch herself. He turned away from her and strolled across to draw the lacy curtains over the windows back slightly, peering down at the darken street below. She eyed his back, her eyes still narrowed, "You're jealous," she deduced after a moment.

He scoffed, not looking at her, "I don't get jealous".

"Everyone get's jealous, including you".

"No, I don't".

The corner of her mouth rose, knowing for certain that she was right and the way he was acting now, that only proved it even more, "You sound like a child now," she commented lightly, smoothing the skirt of her dress down, "I must say, I'm rather flattered".

Sherlock turned around to face her, glaring, "I am _not_ jealous," he insisted through clenched teeth.

"Why else would you read Robert's file?"

"Perhaps I was just curious".

"Oh, I imagine you were, but the underlying emotion was jealousy," she smiled and stood, shrugging as she began collecting up the cream and used swab to put in the bin, "Anyway, while this discussion as been very educational, I think I ought to organise that hotel room now…" she headed into the kitchen and put the cream on the kitchen counter while she chucked the swab in the bin.

Sherlock appeared in the doorway, frowning at her, "Don't be ridiculous," he told her, seeming to be more then pleased to be moving past the discussion about whether or not he was jealous, "You will be staying here".

Amelia blinked, spinning around on her heel to stare at him, "I couldn't possibly…"

"Why not?"

"Well, John's moved out and he would have taken his bed. I can hardly sleep on that sofa, I would end up putting my neck out and getting a migraine…"

"So sleep in my bed," he cut across her, making her very nearly gape at him for even suggesting that, and so casually, too. He shook his head at her reaction, "I'm unlikely to use it tonight".

"Sherlock, you need to sleep," she sighed, a frown crossing her face as she thought it all over. There was only really one conclusion that she could come to, "Fine, I'll stay here, but I can't possibly completely take over your bed. You need sleep just as much as I do, Holmes, so I insist that we share. Just for tonight," she added hastily, "I'll find somewhere else to sleep for tomorrow".

"There's always John's room. As you said, it's empty…"

She stared at him, startled, "Are you…suggesting that I, what? _Move_ in here with _you_?"

"You have nowhere else…"

"Not completely true, I do have my town house".

"That's hardly ideal for working together," Sherlock said, shaking his head, "Belgravia is to far…"

Amelia burst out laughing, simply unable to help herself, "It's only sixteen minutes by car, thirteen if I take a shortcut," she smirked slowly at him, "You must be really desperate to get me to move in if you're trying to use that flimsy excuse, Holmes".

"You don't own a car".

"I can easily buy one, I can certainly afford it".

"Amelia, be logical about this," he sighed heavily, frustration entering his voice, "Living next door was ideal for working on cases, living in a completely different area of London will waste time".

Amelia reached up to rub her forehead, but she could see the logic in his argument. Living next door had been perfect, she had her own space and still been close to Sherlock and John so that she never, or, at least, hardly never missed out of anything during a case. And well, quite frankly she wasn't entirely sure if she even wanted to move back to her town house, sure she was still very fond of it and she would never be able to bring herself to sell it, but to move back there just wasn't really what she wanted now. It had suited her when she had worked by herself, but things were different now, she was different and she supposed that travel time would cut into their cases together when she was probably more likely to spend most of her time around Baker Street then her own home if she moved back into the town house. Still, living with Sherlock, was that truly wise, even as a friend? She had feelings for him, that much was clear, and while he was tricky to read she suspected that it wasn't one way, either, which would only add on another potential awkward situation if they lived together.

"Sherlock," she began warily, looking back up to him, her mind still spinning, "Can we discuss this late? I'm tired, so tired that I'm not even hungry and my brain hurts from thinking. Tomorrow, maybe, we can continue".

"Of course," he nodded.

She gave him a small smile and began to head for his bedroom, feeling weird that she was even going in there in the first place. She had only ever gone in their twice, once with John when Sherlock had been drugged and at Christmas time when Irene Adler had faked her death. The first time. She paused, though, and glanced back to him, "Night, Holmes," she called to him.

"Goodnight, Amelia".

 _ **I'm sorry about the wait, school and then I got sick, but things are starting to happen between Amelia and Sherlock now, even going so far as to ask Amelia to move in with him. I guess we'll just have to see what happens in that regard.**_

 _ **Next chapter, Mycroft misses the bickering, Sherlock apologises to Amelia for something, and Amelia finds her next outfit amusing. I hope you liked it, please review :)**_

 _ **Guest review:**_

 _ **Waterlily91:**_ _ **Yep, Amelia and Sherlock are back, and Amelia certainly hasn't escaped John's anger or hurt. They've got a bit to go before John will be willing to forgive them at this point, I'm afraid. Thanks for the review :)**_


	4. Chapter 4 The Empty Hearse, Part 3

_**The Empty Hearse, Part 3**_

A loud, annoying buzzing noise was going off, waking Amelia from the nice dream that she been having that involved investigating a case in the middle of a Prada shop. Blindly, with her eyes squinted against the bright sunlight that was streaming in through the gaps of the dark curtains, she reached over to switch off the alarm that she had forgotten to change the night before, having been so tired that she had completely forgotten that her phone was still set to go off at seven o'clock on a week day. With the noise gone, she finally opened her eyes and very nearly had a heart attack.

She was in Sherlock's bedroom, more than that, she actually sleeping in _his_ bed. It took her a second for her brain to catch up with her before she remembered that she had actually agreed to sleep there the night before, but it was still slightly startling for her. She recalled now how she had completely stripped the bed and found new, fresh sheets for it before climbing beneath the covers the night before, the old sheets having been covered in a thick layer of dust, just as everything else in the flat seemed to be. Still, even though the room hadn't been used for two years, it still held Sherlock's scent in the air, like old books and, strangely, gunpowder. She tried very hard to not think about how the room could have earned such an unusual smell as gunpowder, she really wasn't sure if she wanted to know the details.

She sat up and yawned loudly, her eyes roaming around the darkened room before coming to rest on the empty space beside her, on the right side of the bed. She didn't remember being disturbed or hearing anything during the night, but Sherlock had clearly slept there the night before. The covers on that side of the bed had been pulled back and the pillows had been slightly flattened with a clear indent of where his head had rested. She desperately hoped she hadn't done anything embarrassing while she slept, like drooling or trying to cuddle into him, as she had been known to do in the past.

She gave herself a shake and leant over to the bedside table on her side of the bed, grabbing her phone and tapping in the password to unlock it. She had replaced her old Blackberry with an iPhone after she had gone into hiding and while on a teacher's wage she might not have been able to get the most recent version, she did have to wonder why she hadn't gotten rid of her old phone long before her fake death. She absently checked the news headlines, only for her eyes to widen. It was official, the news had gotten out about her and Sherlock being alive and back in London, with Twitter going crazy with people talking about their return and speculations flying. She supposed it probably wasn't that surprising that the news had leaked what with John's shouting about it the night before, but she was slightly disappointed that it had gotten out so soon. She wasn't looking forward to dealing with the press asking questions and she was rather grateful that most of the people who had her number right now were all still under the belief that she was Jessica Holmes, though, for how much longer she didn't know.

She sighed and locked her phone, placing it back onto the table as she pushed the covers off herself and climbed out of bed. The early morning air hit her bare legs, making her shiver slighter as she walked around the bed to the door and made her way out of the room, heading for the living room. She soon found Sherlock standing on top of the couch cushions, busy sticking a large map on the wall above the sofa, along with photos of several different people and little notes. He was already dressed with his red dressing gown over his clothing, apparently having been up for some time, judging by the amount of stuff he had already pinned to the wall, one hand holding his phone as it dinged, singling a message. Amelia leant against the kitchen door, watching curiously.

"Morning, Holmes," she greeted him after a moment when he made no indication that he even knew that she was there, "Getting a head start on the case?"

"London is in danger, Amelia," he replied, not looking at her, his attention still on his task, "Not everyone can spend all day sleeping".

"It's seven in the morning, not two in the afternoon".

"Is it?" he asked ideally, clearly not very interested.

Amelia shook her head, crossing her left foot behind her right ankle, "Out of curiosity, exactly how much sleep did you get last night?"

"Three, four hours. What does it matter?" his tone grew slightly irritated.

"Humans need more sleep then that, you're only doing yourself a disservice by not getting a good night's sleep".

"Sleeping's boring".

"But also very important for higher thought processing, such as the cognitive abilities that we both use throughout cases," she paused, actually blinking slightly at herself, "God, I really need a coffee after that. Or maybe a shower".

"Mycroft will be here soon," Sherlock informed her, glancing back to her briefly.

"Shower it is, then," she remarked, mentally grimacing at how she probably looked right now with her hair a mess and all over the place, no makeup, and still wearing the shirtdress from the night before, though it was now very wrinkled and she highly doubted if even her favourite drycleaner was going to be able to get the small little specks of blood off it now. She had been tempted to borrow one of Sherlock's shirts, but she felt that was probably a step to far after he had given her his bed.

As if reading her thoughts, Sherlock released a loud sigh and turned around to face her, still standing on the sofa cushions, "One of Mycroft's people dropped off some fresh clothing for you," he told her, making her blink in surprise, "It's in the bathroom".

Amelia broke into a broad smile, feeling quite excited to know just what lovely outfit she had waiting for her. Not for the first time did she realise that she really did have an obsession with clothing, but she supposed it was a lot better addiction to have then drugs or blowing things up. She turned to leave for the bathroom just down the hallway, when she paused and looked back to Sherlock, "How are you today?" she asked, mildly concerned. His lip looked slightly swollen, but he had luckily managed to avoid getting a black eye after getting punched in the nose.

He looked back to her, frustration and annoyance clearly written across his face, "Amelia, I am trying to work, something I can't do with you constantly asking me questions," he said sharply.

She narrowed her eyes, feeling slightly hurt by his tone and words, but she didn't want to let him see that, "Fine," she said flatly, her tone cold, "I'll just express my concern for you when you're…oh, I don't know, lying in a puddle of your own blood or in a hospital bed," she raised her eyebrows mockingly at him, crossing her arms across her chest, "Would that be better?" she didn't wait for him to respond as she turned on her heel and began marching off.

She was well aware that he was trying to work, she wasn't an idiot, but she also couldn't help the fact that she was concerned about him. His chest was covered in bruises and he had been hit several times only the night before, not to mention throttled, so of course she was worried about him. He was her friend…well, he was _more_ than that to her and she needed to ask. What type of friend would she be if she didn't? It wasn't as if he was going to just simply tell her, plus, they were working on a very important case, they both needed to be as fit as possible and if he needed something, even something like a painkiller, then she would be more than happy to try and help.

"Amelia," Sherlock called after her, and she backtracked slightly, looking back to him with an indifferent look. He sighed, looking slightly uncomfortable, "I…apologise," he said after a moment, surprising her, "I'm appreciative of your concern".

Amelia raised her eyebrows, rather impressed by this new side of Sherlock, a side that actually proved that he was capable of recognising when he had crossed a line and hurt her feelings, "That must have been painful," she commented, keeping her face carefully blank, "I'm not an idiot, Sherlock, so I would be really grateful if you didn't treat me like one and get so snappy with me when I am only expressing concern for your wellbeing. But…" she allowed a small smile to cross her face, her tone growing slightly warmer as she continued, "Thank you for apologising. I'll leave you to it".

And with that, she turned and left the room, heading for the bathroom. She had to admit that she was rather surprised that he had actually apologised, two years ago she doubted if he would have even noticed that he had hurt her feelings. Perhaps the last two years of being away had helped to humanise him slightly, either way, she preferred this slightly more self-aware version.

…

The shower was exactly what Amelia had wanted, she immediately felt wide awake the moment the hot water had hit her face. After she had showered and dried herself, she used her hair tie from the night before to pull her hair back into a ponytail just like she had the day before. She had been rather impressed by the clothing that Mycroft had sent over, it had even included a full makeup kit and a few pieces of jewellery to choose from, all of which that she recognised as being hers from two years ago, just as the clothing was. She did her makeup first, using her favourite shade of red lipstick and gold eye shadow with eyeliner.

She had been slightly amused by the outfit, finding it to be rather perfect considering it was her first case with Sherlock after two years. The outfit was a pair of pink platform heeled Mary Jane's, a matching pink mini skirt with a pleated detailing, a black singlet that she had tucked into the skirt, and a pink blazer. Her handbag was, of course, pink and the jewellery was a pair of gold studs in the shape of bows, and a doubled strand gold necklace with amethyst stones. It might have been a little morbid that she was wearing so much pink when their first case together had a victim that died wearing the same shade, but she couldn't help appreciating the dark humour of it.

With a satisfied nod at her reflection, she left the bathroom and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. She paused, considering whether or not she should make herself some toast and tea, but decided against it. Knowing Mrs Hudson, she would be up there soon enough with a tray. She continued on through into the living room and found that Mycroft had arrived while she had been getting dressed. He was sitting in John's old chair, his back facing her while Sherlock had since moved to his own chair across from him. The two of them seemed to be playing chess, or at least that's what it appeared like from the angle she was standing on, it was only when she began to make her away further into the room and over towards them that she realised that she was wrong. So very wrong. It wasn't chess; it was the board game Operation. She almost broke into a fit of giggles at the sight of two grown men playing a child's game.

"You should be careful, Amelia," Sherlock remarked, glancing up to her, his eyes quickly running over her outfit, "The last woman who wore that much pink ended up murdered".

"Lovely to know that you care, Holmes," Amelia flashed him a slightly sarcastic smile. She shook her head and moved to perch on the armrest of his chair, sitting her handbag down on the floor by it, "Besides, murder?" she raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly, "Been there, done that. Good morning, Mycroft," she turned her attention across to the older Holmes's brother.

"Did you sleep well, Amelia?" Mycroft asked pleasantly, though it was never so simple with him, and she knew immediately what was coming, "My brother's mattress would be less soft then you prefer, I would imagine".

"It was perfectly comfortable, thank you," she replied, a hint of warning her tone. She really didn't want to be dealing with Mycroft's knowing looks and sly comments that all alluded to one thing: her relationship with Sherlock. She cleared her throat and glanced over to the wall above the sofa, noticing that since earlier that morning, Sherlock had crossed out several of the people featured in the photographs that he had pinned to the wall in black marker, "Sherlock, mind explaining your presentation to the class?" she glanced at him, really not entirely sure just who those people were even meant to be.

Sherlock looked back over to his wall, "London," he began, "It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents, and drifters are irresistible drained…"

"Charming description, Holmes," Amelia remarked, wrinkling her nose in mild disgust.

"Sometimes it's not a question of 'who?'" he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "It's a question of 'who knows?' If this man cancels his papers…" he pointed over to a picture of a bold man about to climb into a car, completely oblivious to the fact that he was being photographed, "I need to know".

"Oh, I see," the brunet nodded slowly, realising that the pictures had all been sent to him by his homeless network.

He pointed across to a second picture, this time of a young woman walking her dog through what appeared to be a small street market, "If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know," he went on, focusing back onto Amelia and Mycroft, "There are certain people, they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up, like rats deserting a sinking ship".

"Cleaver," Amelia said, eyeing the map and pictures with more interest now. There were a few more pictures to it then there had been she first saw it, and he had also crossed out several places on the map of London, obviously ruling those places out as areas of where the attack would take place. She would have to examine it more closely later, now that she actually understood what it was.

"All very interesting, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed tiredly, "But the terror alert has been raised to Critical".

Sherlock leant forward and, without taking his eyes off his brother, made his move on the board game on the table between them, "Boring," he sat back slightly, speaking almost in a sing-song voice, "Your move".

He frowned at him, "We have solid information, an attack _is_ coming," he glanced down at the board, leaning forward slightly to take his turn.

"Well, obviously there will be an attack, if we're dealing with a terrorist organisation," Amelia said lightly, shrugging as she absently smoothed a hand down her skirt, "That's what they do to breed fear and cause panic. Knowing an attack is coming is one piece of the puzzle, a good starting platform but still useless information on its own. We still need to work out _who_ is behind it and _where_ it will take place".

Mycroft looked at her coldly, making her raise an eyebrow, "An agent gave his life to tell us that," he told her, almost glaring.

"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done," Sherlock commented, shrugging faintly, his tone just as light as Amelia's had been, "He was obviously just trying to show off".

"Sherlock, honestly," Amelia sighed, shaking her in mild exasperation. She turned back to Mycroft, who looked like he was struggling not to sigh himself, "We both understand the importance of this case, Mycroft," she tried to reassure him, knowing that it probably didn't sound like they were taking it as seriously as it was what with her statement about the information being rather lacking and Sherlock's little unhelpful remarks. She meet his eyes, hoping that she was stressing just how important it was to them, "And we are investigating every angle and channel that we can, as fast as we can, so just give us time and let us do our job. We can't work miracles over night with nothing to go on".

He closed his eye briefly before opening them again, sighing heavily, "None of those markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?" he asked, looking between the two, though Amelia really couldn't be of much help in that department right now. His eyes flickered down to the board as he made his move, before focusing his attention back onto Sherlock, "Your move".

"No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me," Sherlock replied, looking slightly annoyed after his brother managed to avoid setting off the games buzzer. Amelia was still feeling the urge to laugh, it really was quite sweet to see the Holmes boys playing a game together, "I'll find the answer," he continued, "It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad," he glanced quickly down at the board as he made his move, dropping the plastic organ onto the table with a small clatter. He looked back to his brother, smiling very slightly, "Your move".

"You just have to have faith that we know what we're doing," Amelia said, smirking slowly at him, "As hard as that might be for you to do".

Mycroft cast his eyes down at the board and back up to Sherlock and Amelia, his expression deadly serious, "I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're both on the case," he informed them, looking between them.

"Amelia and I _are_ on the case," Sherlock frowned slightly, nodding to Amelia beside him, "Look at us right now".

"There's really not much that we can do right now," the brunet sighed, throwing a quick look over towards the wall and the pictures covering it, "We just have to wait until one of our marks makes a suspicious move, until then, we really have nothing to work with".

A loud, horrible buzzing noise sounded throughout the room and a red light flashed on the board game, just as Mycroft was taking his turn, "Oh, bugger!" he exclaimed, and angrily dropped the small toy tweezers attached to the side of the board as he accidently hit the side of the space.

"Oh, well done," Amelia laughed, clapping her hands mockingly. Operation was her top board game; no one beat her in that game, not even John with his steady doctor hands could win against her when they had spent an evening playing. Sadly, Monopoly and poker were a completely different story, and both Sherlock and John had practically mopped the floor with her after they had played those games.

"Oopsie!" Sherlock smirked at his brother, seeming to be having a great time watching his brother glare at the game as he put the plastic game piece back into its space, "Can't handle a broken heart," he remarked sarcastically as he looked at the miniature toy heart, "How _very_ telling," he leaned back into his chair, looking rather smug as he exchanged an amused look with Amelia.

"Don't be smart," Mycroft shot them both a dark look.

He sighed, looking away from him, "That takes me back," he said, raising his eyebrows in a haughty expression and putting on a little boy's voice, "'Don't be smart, Sherlock. _I'm_ the smart one"'.

"I _am_ the smart one," he glared at his little brother.

"You two must have been the most difficult kids, even more so then my brother and I," Amelia laughed, shaking her head as she leaned forward and, without waiting, picked up the toy tweezers and carefully used them to pick up the heart without even coming close to touching the sides. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her, looking almost sulky while Sherlock smirked at him, looking quite smug again, "The fighting alone must have been completely mental," she went on, pretending as if she hadn't noticed anything as she sat back again, her lower arm lightly brushing against Sherlock's shoulder. She glanced at Sherlock, her eyes lingering on his hair, "But those curls must have looked simply adorable of little Sherlock".

"Oh, for God's sake…" Mycroft muttered, falling back into his chair with a look of disgust on his face.

She smiled, shrugging, not the slightest bit embarrassed as she glanced at Mycroft, "What? I'm sure little Sherlock in his pirate hat and wellies, running about, _was_ adorable".

Sherlock looked rather shocked, not seeming to quite know how to respond, before he frowned at her, "How do you know about the pirate hat?" he asked, throwing Mycroft a suspicious look.

"John told me that you wanted to be a pirate as a kid years ago," she replied, smiling faintly. She had laughed when she had first found out; she had wanted to be a horse trainer as a little girl. How far they had both come, "Every kid makes a pirate hat at one point or another, you would have definitely made one and played outside".

"Hmm," he hummed, his eyes narrowed and resting on Mycroft, "I wonder _where_ John learnt about that," he said sarcastically. It was just a tad embarrassing. He sighed and pulled his eyes away, looking thoughtful, "I used to think I was an idiot," he commented, thinking about his childhood.

Amelia blinked, her smile slipping completely off her face, "That's awful," she said quietly, staring at him in a completely new light. It was horrible to think of a little boy believing himself to be an idiot, no child should think that way about themselves, they should be having fun, not worried about something like _that_.

" _Both_ of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock," Mycroft said with a shrug, settling himself more comfortably into his chair, "We had nothing else to go on, until we met other children".

"Oh, yes," Sherlock nodded, looking back to them, "That was a mistake".

"Ghastly. What _were_ they thinking of?"

" _Probably_ something about trying to make friends".

"Oh, yes. _Friends_ ," Mycroft practically sneered the word, raising his eyebrows mockingly at his little brother, "Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now," he looked pointedly to Amelia, who gave him a little smile.

Sherlock eyed him closely, "And you don't?" he narrowed his eyes very slightly, " _Ever_?"

"If you and Amelia…"

"Hey!" Amelia exclaimed, crossing her arms across her chest as she glared at Mycroft, "Leave me out of this, please".

"…seem slow to me, Sherlock," Mycroft continued, hardly seeming to have even heard her, "Can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish".

Sherlock pressed his finger tips together beneath his chin, still eyeing his brother, "Yes, but I've been away for two years".

"So?"

"Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a…goldfish".

Mycroft looked appalled by the mere suggestion, much to Amelia's amusement, "Change the subject, _now_ ," he glared, climbing onto his feet and stepping over to stand by the fireplace.

Amelia laughed, unable to help herself, "I do so like to watch your brother squirm," she said to Sherlock, watching Mycroft.

Sherlock smirked at that, looking rather pleased with himself, "Rest assured, Mycroft, whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre," he said, growing serious.

"Ooh-ooh!" Mrs Hudson called cheerfully as she walked into the room, carrying a tray with tea cups sitting on it, drawing their attention to her.

"Speaking of which…" Mycroft muttered to Sherlock and Amelia, making his brother smile. Amelia shook her head at them, lightly nudging her elbow against Sherlock's arm with a stern look.

Mrs Hudson placed the tray down on the dining table, looking back over to them, "I can't believe it," she smiled, looking delighted as her eyes rested on Amelia and Sherlock, "I just can't believe it!" she shook her head as Amelia smiled at her, feeling quite touched by how emotional she seemed, "Them two, sitting there again!" she looked over to Mycroft, her smile widening, "Oh, isn't it wonderful, Mr Holmes?"

"I can barely contain myself," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, he really _can_ , you know," Sherlock added, casting his brother a quick look.

"He's secretly pleased to see you both underneath all that…" Mrs Hudson scrunched up her nose and mouth, tossing her head back as she began to head over towards the kitchen doors. Amelia laughed.

"Sorry, which of us?" Mycroft frowned, watching the older woman go.

She paused, smiling at them, " _Both_ of you," she replied, before continuing on her way through to the kitchen.

Amelia looked back to Mycroft and Sherlock, "She's right," she remarked, watching the way that neither brother seemed to be able to deny it, not something that you ever saw very often with those two in the same room, "The Holmes boys reunited," she laughed, shaking her head, "You know, if you two weren't so hell-bent on pretending not to like each other, you would make quite a team".

Mycroft grimaced very slightly, glancing at her, "I think I'll leave the _teamwork_ to you two," he told her, giving her an irritatingly knowing look, "You already do it so well, as it is".

Sherlock cleared his throat loudly, just as Amelia narrowed her eyes at his brother, "Let's play something different," he said suddenly, clapping his hands.

He sighed heavily, exasperated, "Why are we playing games?"

"Well, London's terror alert has been raised to Critical," he shrugged, uncrossing his legs with a flourish and rising to his feet, "I'm just passing the time".

"Believe me," Amelia cut in, giving Mycroft a pointed look, "There are worst ways that we could be trying to distract ourselves. Shooting at walls springs to mind," she threw the wall above the sofa a look, the bullet holes still noticeable in the wallpaper.

"Let's do deductions," Sherlock said, almost sounding cheerful. He brushed past Amelia as she remained perched on the armrest and strolled over to the dining table, picking up a woollen hat with earflaps that had pom-poms attached to the flaps with a twisted cord of wool. He turned back to his brother and Amelia, the brunet looking at the hat curiously, "Client left this while we were out. What d'you reckon?" he tossed the hat across the room.

Mycroft easily caught it, barely even glancing down at it as the pom-poms flew around, "I'm busy".

Amelia smiled very slightly, looking forward to seeing how this would unfold, "Oh, don't be a spoilsport," she rolled her eyes at him, "You're hardly so busy that you can't possibly play one simple game with your baby brother, Mycroft".

"Oh, go on, it's been an age," Sherlock agreed, smirking at him.

Mycroft lifted the hat up to his nose, sniffing it before quickly glancing back over to Sherlock, "I always win," he warned him.

"Which is why you can't resist".

"I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well travelled, anxious, sentimental, unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis…" he stopped talking suddenly, blinking very slightly as he finally noticed Sherlock and Amelia's widening smiles, "Damn," he sighed, tossing it back to Sherlock.

"You're so easy, Mycroft," Amelia grinned at him, shaking her head. She couldn't help wondering if she was getting a rare peek into what these two must have been like as kids, the little games that they would play and the constant attempts to outsmart each other. She couldn't help feeling slightly envious because, even though they did fight and might not always get along, she knew for a fact that the Holmes brother's did care very deeply for each other and were far closer then they perhaps would like to admit.

She had never had that closeness with James, never really got the chance to feel what it would be like to have a brother, not even a relationship like the Holmes boys did. Of course they had been rare moments when it had felt close to what she imagined it would be like, she could recall playing outside in the garden of their home together, though it usually always ended in her crying because James had hurt her. When they had been little, neither one of them had really anyone else to play with. They had grown up living just on the outskirts of a little Irish village and before they had gone to school, they had spent most of their time there, save for summer when they would leave for her Mother's family home in France. Growing up in the village had been hard for them both, James wasn't very well liked by the other children in the village, tending to enjoy scaring them or playing rough, while Amelia had been outcast because she was different. She had been quiet, preferring to sit on the outskirts and watch, which often left her alone, never quite knowing how to try to engage with the other children when she had always felt so different from them, almost like she was an outsider or an alien. Going to school had helped her to learn that she _was_ different, but it had also taught her the value of keeping those differences to herself in order to fit in, but, if anything, starting school had only made her relationship with James grow even more distant. They hadn't needed each other anymore to keep each other company and that allowed James even more freedom to be mean to her without fearing scaring her off. From that point onwards, she had known that she would never really get to have a brother, not really.

Sherlock caught the hat, glancing down at it, "Isolated, too, don't you think?" he commented to his brother, pulling Amelia from her thoughts.

"Why would he be isolated?" Mycroft asked with a small frown.

"'He?'" Sherlock repeated, his head snapping back up to him.

"Obviously".

"Why? Size of the hat?"

"No, that data is to general," Amelia cut in, making them both look at her. She eyed the hat quickly, picking up as much information from it as she could without actually handling it herself, "Head size is hardly an indication of gender, that sort of information is better suited for determining if it belongs to a child or adult," she held out a hand to Sherlock, who handed her the hat, seeming to be curious to hear what she had to say. She turned the hat over in her fingers, allowing the slightly prickly woollen fabric to pass over her skin, "No, women can have large heads, just as men can have small ones. There's also the hair that you need to consider, though that is also still rather general," she handed the hat back to Sherlock, seeing all that she needed to.

"Ah, yes, the hair," Mycroft nodded, looking over to the hat in Sherlock's hands, "He's recently had it cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside".

Sherlock pouted very slightly, glancing at the inside of the hat, "Some women have short hair, too".

"I've even considered cutting my hair into a pixie cut," Amelia remarked, reaching up to toy with the end of her ponytail, "It's become quite fashionable lately".

"Don't," Sherlock told her, casting her a quick, calculating look, "You don't have the right bone structure or personality for it to work. Long hair suits you better".

She smiled very slightly, glancing up to him, "I had no idea you even noticed something as trivial as my looks, Holmes," she said slyly, unable to help herself.

Mycroft cleared his throat, looking away from the nauseating scene of his brother and Amelia, who was so obviously flirting as they locked gazes, neither one of them saying a word. He much rather preferred it when the two of them bickered like children to this…sentimental nonsense that his brother had apparently become inclined to engaging in with Amelia of late, "As I was saying," he said loudly, snapping their attention back to him, "It is a balance of probability that the owner of this hat is male".

Sherlock looked back down to the hat, "Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair," he muttered, loud enough for them to all hear, "Or, you know, a _woman_ ".

"Yeah, thanks for that," Amelia rolled her eyes, throwing him a pointed look.

"Stains show he's out of condition," Mycroft continued, ignoring them both, "And he's sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four…"

"Five times," Sherlock immediately cut him off, throwing the hat back over to him, "Very neatly," he began speaking fast as his brother looked slightly sour that he had been corrected, looking down at the hat in his hands, "The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it's more than that," he went on, not slowing down in the slightest, "One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but _five_?" he raised his eyebrows, shaking his head, "Five's excessive behaviour. Obsessive compulsive".

"God," Amelia breathed, smiling broadly as she looked at Sherlock, "I've missed this".

"Beats being a boring school teacher," he smirked at her, making her struggle to hold back a laugh, feeling as if she ought to scold him for that remark considering the fact that she had actually enjoyed teaching, but nothing really could quite ever match this.

"Hardly obsessive compulsive," Mycroft scoffed, drawing their attention back to him, "Your client left this behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that?" he threw the hat back to Sherlock, who easily caught it with an exasperated grimace. Clearly this little game wasn't quite going as he had planned it to, "The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he's worn it abroad, in Peru".

Amelia frowned slightly, glancing at him, "How did you get Peru?" she asked curiously and mildly confused, wondering what she was missing. She knew fabric and different clothing materials almost better then a tailor; it was one of the perks of being so obsessed with fashion.

Mycroft sent her an almost smug look, "This is a chullo," he informed them, sounding completely convinced, "The classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca".

"No," Sherlock smirked at him.

"Not quite," Amelia smiled very slightly. She must have several jumpers and even a rug or two made out of the alpaca, she would recognise it instantly.

"No?" Mycroft paused, frowning slightly in confusion, looking back and forth between the two.

"Icelandic sheep wool," Sherlock replied, speaking fast again, "Similar, but very distinctive _if_ you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres".

"I'm sure there's a crying need for that," Mrs Hudson called as she walked back into the room with a teapot, making her way over to where the tray she had brought in before was still sitting. Amelia laughed, though she did try to stifle it as Sherlock shot her a look.

He turned away from her, focusing back onto his brother, while Mrs Hudson headed into the kitchen, "You said he was anxious," he reminded him, getting back on track.

Mycroft looked back to him, glancing down at the hat, "The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition but…"

"…but also a creature of habit because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right," Sherlock spoke over the top of him, eyeing the slightly withered bobble, comparing it to its much better looking twin on the right side.

"Precisely".

Sherlock lifted the hat up to his nose and sniffed it, quickly lowering it again with a disgusted grimace, "Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath," he remarked, glancing at Amelia with his eyebrow raised.

Amelia cringed slightly at the thought of how bad it must have smelled, "I'll take your word on it, Holmes," she said lightly.

He shrugged, turning away from them, "Brilliant!" he said sarcastically.

"Elementary," Mycroft commented with a small shrug, smiling slightly at his brother's back.

"But you've missed his isolation," he pointed out, his back facing them.

"I don't see it".

"Plain as day".

"Where?"

"There for all to see".

"Tell me".

"Plain on the nose on your…"

" _Tell_ me".

Sherlock spun around to face him as Amelia smiled, finding watching the two of them interacting together amusing. This was definitely how their childhood had to have been like, "Well," he began, frowning at his brother, "Anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"

"Not at all," Mycroft shook his head, glancing at the hat, before looking back up to him, "Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated".

"Exactly," he nodded, looking back down to the hat in his hand.

"Very true," Amelia agreed, smiling faintly at Mycroft, catching on to what Sherlock was doing, or rather, implying.

Mycroft blinked, looking quite confused, "I'm sorry?"

Sherlock looked back up to him, "He's different, so what?" he shrugged, "Why would he mind. You're quite right," he didn't take his eyes off his brother as he lifted the hat up to sit on top of his head, not quite fitting over his curls, "Why would _anyone_ mind?"

He stared at him, opening and closing his mouth for a moment, not seeming to be able to even get the words out, "I'm not lonely, Sherlock," he insisted finally, shaking his head.

He took a step closer to him, looking at him closely with a small frown crossing his face, "How would you know?" he said quietly, meeting his eyes for a long moment before turning away from him and slipping the hat off his head. As he moved to put the hat down on the dining table, he caught Amelia's eye and exchanged a very small smile.

Mrs Hudson moved to stand in the kitchen doorway, drying a glass with a red tea towel.

"Yes," Mycroft shook his head, shifting uncomfortably, "Back to work, if you don't mind," he gave Sherlock and Amelia a pointed look, before turning and starting to head over to the landing door, "Good morning".

As he left the room and heading down the stairs, Sherlock looked across to Mrs Hudson and winked, making the older woman laugh as she turned back around to continue with the dishes. Amelia smiled and stood, adjusting her blazer as she did so.

"Well done, Holmes," she flashed him an approving look, "Poor Mycroft, he's probably wondering whether or not bringing us back is really worth all this," she walked over to stand before the wall of information pinned above the sofa, letting her eyes drift over it as she forced herself to grow serious, to get back into the mindset of being a detective.

"I'm sure my big brother can handle it, Amelia," Sherlock said, though he was smirking very slightly as he moved to stand beside her. His eyes settled on the information and the smirk faded, "Right," he grew serious, "Back to work".

Amelia set to work starting to familiarise herself with the information that Sherlock had gathered, removing her blazer and draping it on the sofa as she did so, leaving herself in her singlet. They paused briefly to drink some tea, though neither of them had yet to stop long enough to eat something. Sherlock's phone dinged, singling that he had been sent another photo, and he turned around to show the picture to Amelia. It was of a bearded man walking down a street.

Mrs Hudson stepped into the living room door, watching them work for a moment as Amelia popped the lid off a black marker, drawing a large cross over a picture of the same bearded man, "Sherlock?" she began hastily, not wishing to interrupt, "Amelia?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed distractedly, eyeing the information.

Amelia put the lid back on the marker, turning to smile at Mrs Hudson, "Yes, Mrs Hudson?"

"Talk to John," she urged them.

"We tried talking to him," Sherlock told her, not looking away from the wall, "He made his position quite clear".

She frowned, "What did he say?"

"Fu…."

Amelia hurriedly cleared her throat, cutting off Sherlock, "Let's just say that it wasn't very pleasant," she said with a grim look, glancing over to the older woman.

"Ooh, dear!" Mrs Hudson grimaced, getting a pretty good idea of just what Sherlock had been about to say before being cut off. She turned and hurried back downstairs, leaving the detectives to their work.

 _ **It's my 20**_ _ **th**_ _ **birthday**_ __ _ **today, so I thought I would post this chapter today. I know that the chapters is a bit short, but I felt like I needed to cut it here for the next chapter to flow better. The next chapter will be a lot longer than this one and Amelia's outfit will be on my profile and Tumblr page.**_

 _ **Next chapter, will wearing so much pink prove to be a really bad idea? What song has Amelia put on Sherlock's phone for her text alert? And who is Amelia concerned about possibly having an issue with her feelings for Sherlock? Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	5. Chapter 5 The Empty Hearse, Part 4

_**The Empty Hearse, Part 4**_

Apparently, with the news of Sherlock and Amelia being alive, people had decided that it was time that they pay them a visit to ask for help solving their cases. It was a nice distraction from their otherwise boring wait for more information to present itself in their main case, and after easily dealing with the first three people to turn up with cases for them, all of which turning out to be nothing but simple, open and shut cases, Amelia had suggested that there might ask someone to come and spend the day with them. It felt strange to be dealing with clients without John being there, wrong, even, and she did feel as if she owed this person for all that they had done two years ago. Sherlock hadn't been overly thrilled by the idea, but he had conceded that he did agree with her that he had a debt to pay.

It was just after one o'clock and Amelia was sitting in John's old chair, her blazer back on as she ideally read a completely ridiculous article on her phone about herself and Sherlock. It was speculating whether or not she and Sherlock had been together for the last two years, and whether or not that could mean that they had eloped at the same time. She was mainly reading it because she enjoyed reading out snippets of it for Sherlock to hear and watch his reaction, which so far had included a great deal of eye rolling and scoffing. Sherlock was standing before one of the windows, looking down at the street with his back turned on the room, but Amelia knew that he was finding the article just as amusing as she was. Footsteps sounded on the floorboards just outside the door, making Amelia look up and break into a broad smile at the sight of Molly Hooper stepping slowly into the living room, her dark blue coat on and a long, pink and brown stripped scarf hanging around her neck.

"Molly," Amelia greeted brightly, delighted at the prospect of possibly getting the day to spend time with her old friend. She hadn't completely lost contact with Molly over the past two years, they had emailed each other once a month and even texted during Christmas time, but it had been very limited and she imagined that there was still a great deal that they needed to catch up on. However, she was well aware of the most recent and exciting development to occur in Molly's life over the past two years, and she couldn't have been more happy for her.

"Amelia," Molly smiled a little shyly, casting Sherlock's back a quick look before focusing back onto Amelia, "You look very pink," she giggled slightly, looking at her outfit.

"Yes, Sherlock was kind enough to tell me to be careful, otherwise I might end up murdered wearing this much pink," she rolled her eyes with a look directed at Sherlock's back, knowing perfectly well that he was listening to every word.

Molly looked slightly unsure of how to respond to that, but she continued to smile, "So, er, you wanted to see me?" she asked curiously.

"That I did," Amelia nodded as Sherlock finally turned around to face them, "Thanks for coming, I wasn't sure if you were working".

Sherlock took a step towards them, drawing their attention to him, "Molly?"

"Yes?" Molly looked over to him.

"Would you…" he began, before pausing and looking down at the floor. Amelia gave him an encouraging smile and nod, urging him to go on. He sighed, taking another step closer to them, his hands in his trouser pockets as he forced himself to look directly at Molly, "Would you like to…"

"…have dinner?" Molly said hopefully as Sherlock finished with, "…solve crimes?"

"Ooh," Molly muttered, awkwardly shifting as she blushed faintly, realising that _that_ wasn't what he had been suggesting at all.

"But that dinner idea sounds great," Amelia smiled broadly, trying to lighten to the situation, "We should do that later," she cleared her throat as Sherlock made a slight face at the idea of going out to dinner, but she figured he would probably find a way to get out of it, anyway. She quickly looked hopefully to Molly, "So, are you going to help us?"

She broke into an excited smile, glancing quickly at Sherlock, "I would love to".

….

"…monkey glands," Sherlock finished his story, his back facing the room as he stood before the sofa, looking at the wall. Molly was smiling a little awkwardly as she sat in one of the dining chairs, while Amelia sat in Sherlock's chair beside hers, appearing to be struggling not to burst out laughing, both women looking across to where their latest client where. The wife, a dark haired woman, was sitting in John's old chair while her husband stood behind the chair, dressed in a suit, the couple clearly wealthy, "But enough about Professor Presbury," he continued, turning around to face them, his hands clasped behind his back, "Tell us more about your case, Mr Harcourt," he began to walk back over to them.

"Are you sure about this?" Molly asked quietly as he passed her chair, looking slightly more nervous now as she cast a quick glance at their clients.

"Absolutely," he told her, coming to stand just behind Amelia.

"You're doing great, Molly," Amelia assured her, reaching over to lightly pat her arm, hoping that she sounded encouraging.

She still looked rather unsure, "Should I be taking notes?"

"If it makes you feel better," Sherlock shrugged, resting his hand on the back of his chair, his fingers almost brushing Amelia's shoulder.

"It's just that that's what John says _he_ does, so if I'm being John…"

"You're not being John, you're being yourself," he cut across her, meeting her eyes briefly.

"Molly," Amelia murmured, leaning over towards her, feeling like they were being terribly unprofessional right now discussing this in front of a client, but it couldn't be helped. Molly was nervous and didn't want to mess up; she needed a bit of encouragement right now, "Just be yourself, we don't want you to act like anyone else, but _you_ ," she smiled, making Molly nod and return her smile, looking slightly more comfortable.

Sherlock focused back onto the Harcourt's, raising his eyebrows, "You were saying…?" he reminded them, sounding bored already.

"Well, absolutely no one should have been able to empty that bank account other than myself and Helen," Mr Harcourt told them, nodding to his wife.

Amelia raised an eyebrow, carefully running her eyes over the man before her, noticing that his blazer looked loser then it ought to be, which was strange considering that it had been tailored to him. He hadn't had it altered again, meaning that his weight lose had to be recent. Then there was the roots of his hair, which were far darker then they ought to be for a man of his age and therefore dyed. But what was really the icing on the cake was the fact that he had recently had Botox in his forehead and between his eyes, getting rid of those frown lines. She couldn't help the smirk that crossed her face, though she did feel rather bad for Mrs Harcourt as she looked back to Sherlock, who meet her eyes and nodded.

"So, tell me, Mr Harcourt," she began, her expression growing colder as she stood and fixed the husband with a sharp look, "If you and your wife are the _only_ two people who could have emptied your account, why not assume that it might be your wife's doing?" she questioned, gesturing to Mrs Harcourt.

"Because I've always had total faith in her," the husband replied, frowning, or trying to.

"No," Sherlock shook his head, moving around the chair to stand beside Amelia, his eyes narrowed on the man, "It's because _you_ emptied it. Wight loss…" he spoke quickly, pointing out each spot as he spoke, "Hair dye, Botox: affair".

Amelia pulled a business card from her breast pocket, handing it to the wife, "Best divorce lawyer in London," she told the woman, who took the card, looking at it curiously.

"Next!" Sherlock shouted, already heading for the door.

….

A middle aged blonde woman was sitting on the sofa, looking close to tears as she finished telling them her case, all the while Sherlock sat on a chair beside her, holding her hand and patting it sympathetically. Amelia was looking at the woman sadly, standing just slightly behind Sherlock as Molly sat at the dining table, making notes on a small notepad. The woman's stepfather was sitting on the sofa beside her, looking slightly uncomfortable but trying to hide it.

"And your pen pal's emails just stopped, did they?" Sherlock asked, speaking softly and comfortingly to the woman.

The woman nodded, whimpering tearfully as she closed her eyes tightly behind her glasses, close to bursting into sobs, by the look of her. Molly looked over to her, continuing with her note taking.

"I'm so sorry," Amelia said comfortingly, wishing she could move closer to try and comfort the woman, but Sherlock and the stepfather was in the way.

"You really thought he was the one, didn't you?" Sherlock said softly, still patting her hand, "The love of your life?" he let go of her hand and walked over to Molly, Amelia following as the woman took off her glasses, crying harder as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Her stepfather leaned over to her, awkwardly trying to comfort her. Keeping his back to the clients, he glanced at Molly, who had paused in her writing to look up at them, "Stepfather posing as online boyfriend," he remarked quietly to her.

"What?" Molly gasped, shocked and appalled.

Amelia sighed sadly, casting a quick glance back over her shoulder to the sobbing woman and her stepfather, "Yes, it's sadly all too common," she nodded, her voice low, "The fake boyfriend ends the relationship, leaving the woman broken hearted and forever sworn off romance, meaning that she stays at home," her tone took on an angry tone, "And the stepfather continues to get her wages coming in. It's sickening what people will do for greed".

Sherlock turned around to face their clients, focusing on the stepfather, "Mr Windibank," he began sternly as Amelia glared angrily at the man, her arms crossed across her chest, "You have been a complete and utter…"

….

Finally, they managed to run out of clients and with still nothing popping up with any of their markers, they decided to give Lestrade a call and see if he had anything for them that they could waste a bit of time on. As it turned out, Lestrade did have a case for them that Scotland Yard hadn't been able to figure out, not that Sherlock had been very surprised about that. He seemed more amused than anything that they had even _thought_ that they could solve it.

Amelia, however, knew why he was so determined to find a case to distract them, and it wasn't just because there was nothing else that they could do on their main case, but because of John. She could understand it; she hated the thought of John being angry with them. It had never been their intention to hurt him, but that wasn't what mattered now because they _had_ hurt him, that was the thing. She didn't doubt that John would come around, that he would forgive them, but it was still a horrible, guilty feeling knowing that it was their fault that John was so upset with them. And, to top it all off, there was nothing that they could do because it was up to John to forgive them now and she knew that that was one of the hardest parts for Sherlock to try and deal with right now when he was always the person in control, or at least liked to think that he was.

Sherlock, Amelia, and Molly left Baker Street and headed off to the address that Lestrade had given them, soon arriving at an old, half renovated building on a busy street. Lestrade was there to meet them and, with a slightly curious look at Molly, lead them into the building and through to an old brown door at the back of the building that had yellow police tape sealing the door shut.

"This one's got us all baffled," Lestrade told them as he reached up to pull the police tape off the door.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed, rolling his eyes slightly, "I don't doubt it".

Amelia lightly nudged his side, careful to avoid any bruises that she knew was hidden beneath his clothing. He looked back to her as she gave him a stern look, "Behave, Holmes," she muttered. They had only been back for a day; Sherlock didn't need to be getting on Lestrade's nerves already.

Lestrade pulled the door open and lead them down a staircase to the basement. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they came across a large hole that had been knocked through a brick wall. Lestrade lead them through the hole and clicked a switch, causing several mobile lights to light up all around the large room. Amelia blinked, mildly surprised by the sight before her of an old, white desk that had been set up at the back of the almost tunnel-like room, but it was what was sitting in a chair at the desk that really caught her eye, which was a skeleton dressed up in an old suit that was covered in dust and looked slightly dull, as if the fabric had faded. There was a syringe held in the skeleton's fingers, along with an old crystal decanter and wine glass that still had a red stain in the dusty glass.

Amelia looked at Sherlock, meeting his eyes as they exchanged a quick look before looking back at the crime scene, frowning at it. There was just something…off about it. They both moved closer to the desk, Sherlock reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his leather pouch of tools, laying it out on the edge of the desk as he removed a couple of tools from it, while Amelia moved around the side of the desk, pulling on a pair of latex gloves from her handbag as she scanned her eyes over the skeleton. Sherlock set to work using his microscope to examine the sleeve of the skeleton's suit, slowly making his way up towards its skull, before pausing and sniffing the fabric, frowning thoughtfully. Molly stood back slightly, holding her notepad and pen, ready to take notes.

Amelia leaned closer to the skeleton, frowning slightly as a faint scent prickled her nose, pine? Or was that spruce? Hmm, cedar? She sniffed again and made a face, she recognised the smell of mothballs instantly, and judging by how strong it was, they had been new ones. But there was something else she could smell and it took her another sniff to figure it out: smoke. In other words, the clothing, wherever it had come from, it had been involved in a fire. She frowned deeply, looking up to catch Sherlock's eye over the skeleton as they both straightened, Sherlock slipping the magnifier glass shut and placing it back inside his tool kit.

"What is it?" Molly asked, watching them, her pen poised over the notepad. Sherlock reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone, holding it up high above his head as he tried to get a signal. She smiled slightly, looking between them, "You're on to something, aren't you?"

"Mm," Sherlock nodded, not looking at her, "Maybe," he frowned, slipping his phone back in his pocket, "Shut up, John," he muttered, running a hand down his face. Amelia looked at him, slightly concerned as Lestrade glanced at him, too.

"What?" Molly looked over to him, confused.

"Hmm?" he looked back over to her, before shaking his head, "Nothing," he moved around to the other side of the skeleton, lightly placing his hand on Amelia's waist and moving her slightly to the left to give him space to continue his own examination on the other side of the skeleton.

Amelia eyed him, "Are you okay?" she whispered, still slightly concerned.

"Fine," he shook his head, his voice just as soft. She nodded and stepped back, heading around to the other side of the skeleton, giving him space to do his own investigation, "Amelia," he said after a moment, making her look up, "Pass me my tweezers," she leaned over to the table and plucked the tweezers out of his kit, careful to hand them over to him with the sharp ends pointing towards her as he took them, "Thank you".

She smiled across to him, missing the surprised looks on Lestrade and Molly's faces, "Just like old times," she commented, recalling doing something very similar two years ago, just before faking their deaths.

"You're a sentimentalist, Amelia".

She raised her eyebrows, unable to tell from his tone whether or not he was complimenting her or scoffing. It sounded almost as if he didn't even know himself, which could have been very true since he was busy carefully using the tweezers to lift the edge of skeleton's lapel up to check beneath the it. She might have thought he was simply acting on autopilot had she not seen the very small upturn of his mouth, but even then she couldn't be sure. He did have a habit of becoming very cheerful at crime scenes.

Lestrade leaned closer to Sherlock, glancing over towards Molly, "This gonna be your new arrangement, is it?" he questioned quietly.

"Just giving it a go," Sherlock replied softly, still examining the suit's lapel.

"Right," he nodded, glancing back over to Molly, who was jotting something down. He turned back to Sherlock and Amelia, "So, John?"

Amelia cleared her throat, casting Sherlock a quick look as she noticed him pause, "That's still unknown right now," she told Lestrade, her voice carrying a slight warning not to continue down that path right now, not with Sherlock there and already seeming to be…well, she wasn't entirely sure what was going on in that head of his right now.

Sherlock moved around to stand before the table, looking at it carefully, when cement dust began to drift down from the ceiling and a distant rumbling noise sounded. Amelia looked around curiously, moving to the wall and placing her hand on it, feeling the vibrations coming off it.

Molly looked up, glancing at Sherlock, "Trains?"

"Yes, trains," Amelia agreed, sighing slightly as she brushed a bit of dust off her shoulder. She came to stand beside Molly, eyeing the crime scene thoughtfully.

Sherlock squatted down, eyeing the skeleton for a moment before pressing his fingers together, holding them up to his mouth with a thoughtful expression. Molly glanced questioningly at Amelia, who gave her an encouraging smile, wanting Molly to be involved with the case as much as she wanted to be. Molly walked over towards the skeleton and began looking closely at the bones of its neck, while Sherlock rose onto his feet and stepped over towards her.

"Male, forty to fifty," Molly determined, before looking up to find Sherlock just behind her, "Oh, sorry, did you want to be…" she began awkwardly.

"Er, no, please," Sherlock shook his head, waving a hand towards the skeleton, "Be my guest," he looked away from her as Molly went back to examining the bones, "Shut up!" he hissed suddenly, through gritted teeth.

Molly looked nervously up to Lestrade, who was staring at Sherlock as if he was questioning his sanity. Amelia couldn't blame them, but she thought that she might be starting to understand a bit better what was going on. She could imagine that John would say something like that. She stepped over to them and, hesitating slightly, placed her hand on Sherlock's arm, making him pause and glance back to her. She didn't say anything, simply gave him a small, comforting smile and squeezed his arm before letting him go, but she didn't move away. He eyed her for a moment longer and gave her a nod, before turning away and reaching back into his tool kit to retrieve his magnifier glass, closely examining the syringe in the skeletons hand, while Molly went on with her on investigation of the bones.

"Doesn't make sense," Molly frowned at the bones.

"What doesn't?" Lestrade asked, looking at her curiously as Sherlock leant closer to the table and gently blew the dust away from around the hand and towards the edge of the table.

Amelia hurriedly spun away and hastily covered her mouth and nose, sneezing loudly as the dust tickled her nose. Once the sneezing had past, she looked up to find the others looking at her, making her grimace as she sniffed slightly, "Sorry," she muttered, feeling a little embarrassed, "Please, go on, Molly".

Molly glanced back over to Lestrade, "Well, this skeleton, it's…it can't be more than…" she began.

"…six months old," she and Sherlock finished in unison.

Sherlock clicked something beneath the table and a hidden compartment popped open along the side of the desk. He pulled it open and reached inside, pulling out a large, aged book, pausing to blow the thick layer of dust off the dark brown cover. He rolled his eyes and glanced at Amelia, who curiously looked over his arm to the book, only to laugh at what she found written across the cover. Oh, this had been such a promising case, now it just went up in flames.

"Ah, what a shame," she sighed, shaking her head tiredly. And to think, she had gotten dust on her clothing for nothing.

Sherlock turned the book around for Molly to see, the writing scrawled across the brown cover in white ink saying:

' _How I did it_

 _By_

 _Jack the Ripper'._

"Wow!" Molly exclaimed, her eyes widening in amazement at the sight of the cover.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed, tight lipped as he tossed the book onto the middle of the table with a flourish of his wrists, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

Lestrade leaned over the table, ignoring the dust as he looked at the cover, "'How I did it' by Jack the Ripper?" he read aloud, blinking.

"So it says," Amelia remarked, struggling not to scoff.

"It's impossible!" Molly breathed, smiling broadly.

Sherlock glanced at her, "Welcome to our world," he looked back to his tool kit, packing his tools back inside it as Lestrade grinned. He suddenly grimaced, shaking his head as he flapped his hand at his head, as if trying to shake off something, "Get out," he grunted through clenched teeth, not looking up. Amelia sighed heavily, reaching out again to lightly touch his shoulder this time, a little surprised when he didn't try to shake it off or even tense. He kept his head bent, still packing his things away, "I won't insult your intelligence by explaining it to you," he said to Lestrade and Molly, straightening, making Amelia drop her hand back to her side as he stood with his packed pouch and starting for the door.

"No, please, insult away!" Lestrade called after him, still grinning as if it was Christmas.

He stopped halfway towards the door and paused for a moment, before turning back around to face them, looking slightly confused as a distracted frown crossed his face, "The…the…the corpse is…is six months old," he started to explain, blinking more rapidly than normal, "It's dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It's been displayed on a dummy for many years in a case facing south-east, judging from the fading of the fabric," he gestured to the skeleton as Molly quickly took note in her notepad, "It was sold off in a fire-damage sale…" he reached back into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it up briefly for Lestrade to see, "A week ago," he slipped it back inside his pocket.

"There's also the brick work," Amelia cut in, pulling her gloves off her hands and wiping her slightly sweaty palms on her skirt, trying hard not to grimace. She nodded back to the damaged brick work that lead into the room, "You can tell by looking for the subtle signs that it was originally redone, by an armature, too. They set this room up, made it look like the great Jack the Ripper case had been solved, and then sealed it back up again until they knew it would be rediscovered by the workmen," she paused, frowning thoughtfully, "Hmm, they must have had someone working here to be able to do all of this and pull it off, otherwise there's always the chance that no one might have discovered it in the first place".

Lestrade's smile slipped from his face as he reached up to rub his head, looking quite disappointed, "So the whole thing was a fake?" he sighed, looking between Amelia and Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply, turning and heading for the door again.

"Without a doubt," Amelia nodded, giving him and Molly a small smile, "Sorry".

"Looked so promising," Lestrade shook his head, sticking his hands in his pockets and casting the skeleton a quick look.

"Facile," Sherlock called back to them, already out of the room and probably halfway up the stairs by now.

Molly frowned, glancing at Amelia, "Why would someone go to all that trouble?" she asked.

"Why indeed, John?" he said loudly from out of sight, just as Amelia went to open her mouth.

Molly and Lestrade looked at each off, exchanging a slightly awkward expression before glancing at Amelia.

Amelia sighed heavily, nodding to them, "Give me a moment," she told them, heading across the room and out the broken wall, careful not to sprain her ankle of a small bit of brick that hadn't been cleaned up. She made her way up the wooden steps and soon found Sherlock standing, a little surprisingly, in the hallway at the top of the stairs, fiddling with his phone, "Sherlock?" she said carefully, stepping closer to him.

"I'm fine, Amelia," he cut her off, not looking up from his phone.

"Are you?" she frowned, concerned as she placed a light hand on his arm. He stopped typing something into his phone and glanced at the hand on his arm, before looking up to her face, "I know you miss him," she went on gently, her expression growing soft, "I do too, nothing quite feels right without John, but we have to be patient. It's up to him to forgive us now, until then we just simply have to carry on and focus on the case at hand".

He narrowed his eyes slightly, "You seem very sure that he will forgive us".

"Sometimes, Holmes, you just have to have enough faith in people, and I _believe_ in John. I have to; otherwise I doubt I would be of much help to you right now getting upset about the current situation".

"Which you think I am doing, getting upset?"

She smiled lightly, removing her hand from his arm to touch his cheek. He blinked, almost as if he was startled by the affectionate gesture, but he still made no move to try to shy away from her, his eyes fixed on hers, trying to read her, "Of _course_ you're upset," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "You are not nearly as unfeeling as you might wish to pretend to be, and that's okay, it's _good_ to feel that way, Sherlock. Just don't give up on John so soon, okay? Hope, sometimes, is all that we can really ask for, and right now we still have the hope for forgiveness".

Sherlock stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, "You truly are a sentimental optimist, Amelia," he remarked, but this time his voice carried a very strong note of fondness in it, leaving her with no doubt of how he felt about it.

Amelia laughed slightly, lightly patting his cheek before dropping her hand back to her side, "Well, someone has to be in this relationship," she replied with a grin.

His own mouth twitched and his expression grew lighter, almost warmer as he straightened and slipped his phone back inside his coat pocket, "I believe we still have one last stop to make," he said lightly.

"I do believe that we do, yes".

He hesitated, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before his expression smothered out and he offered her his elbow, just as he had done the night before at the restaurant, "Shall we?"

She couldn't help the wide smile that crossed her face, feeling her heart rate pick up slightly. It was one thing for her to touch him and for him to not shy away from it when it was just the two of them, but it was a completely different thing for him to actually be willing to initiate physical contact with her, and in public, no less. It felt like they had stepped into a new chapter of their friendship, "I would love to, Mr Holmes," she said sincerely, smiling brightly as she linked her arm through his.

….

It was snowing by the time that Sherlock, Amelia, and Molly had climbed out of a cab outside a brick building that had been made into a set of flats, at some point, the sky starting to darken above them. Amelia pulled her blazer tighter around her body, wishing that Mycroft's people had thought to include a coat as they made their way down the small garden path of the set of flats and into the building, making their way down the small hallway until they reached their client's frosted glass front door. Sherlock used his gloved finger to press the doorbell, but rather than a normal bell or a buzzing noise, a recording of the London underground announcement came.

"Mind the gap," a male, computerised voice sounded, making Molly giggle and Amelia smile faintly, amused. Sherlock glanced at them, raising his eyebrows, "Mind the gap…"

A shadow appeared behind the frosted the glass of the door before it was pulled open by a man in his early thirties to late twenties. Amelia reached into her handbag and pulled out the bobble hat that Mycroft and Sherlock had played with earlier, holding it out to the man.

"Oh," the man blinked slightly, glancing at the three of them as he took the hat, "Thanks for hanging on to it".

"No problem," Sherlock told him, stepping into the flat as the man lead them inside, Amelia and Molly following behind him. They walked down a short hallway with doors leading off it to the other rooms, "So, what's this all about, Mr Shilcott?"

Shilcott lead them into one of the first rooms on the left of the hallway, only for Amelia to blink slightly in mild surprise. The room was filled with different train memorabilia, with pictures and posters covering the walls of different trains, even a few with Shilcott himself posing before several trains in what appeared to be in foreign countries, while wearing his bobble hat. There was a large, very well detailed model train set running around most of the room, taking up a large chunk of space, while there was also a few glass cabinets set up with more model trains sitting on glass shelves. Amelia couldn't help but think that Sheldon Cooper from the 'Big Bang Theory' would practically be in heaven in a room like this.

"My girlfriend's a big fan of you two," Shilcott informed them, looking back to them from over his shoulder.

"Girlfriend?" Sherlock repeated sarcastically, laughing as he cast a look around the room. Shilcott looked back to him, his mouth set in a tight line as Molly gave him a look. Amelia cleared her throat, fixing him with a pointed look, "Sorry," he hastily said, losing the smile as he looked back to the man, "Do go on".

"I like trains".

"Yes…" he nodded slowly, glancing at Amelia, clearly trying hard not to say anything rude of offensive. She was actually quite impressed.

"And what a great collection you have here," Amelia smiled politely to Shilcott, looking around the room, "It's very impressive".

Shilcott smiled proudly, standing a little taller, "Thank you," he looked around the room for a moment with a prideful glint in his eyes, before Sherlock cleared his throat pointedly. He shifted, quickly looking back to them, "I work on the Tube, on the District Line," he told them, getting back on track, no pun intended, "And part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been cleared," he turned and sat down on a swivel chair before where a computer had been set up on a desk running across the window, "I was just whizzing through and, er…" he looked back to them, "I found something a bit bizarre," he turned back to the computer as Sherlock raised an eyebrow, glancing back to Amelia and Molly, mouthing a sarcastic 'ooh'. Amelia struggled to hold back a small laugh, managing to turn it into a small cough as she hid her smile behind her hand, forcing herself to grow serious again as Shilcott brought up a black and white video feed of footage from a train platform. They moved closer to look at the screen over his shoulder, spotting a well dressed man with a briefcase standing on the platform by a stationary train, watching as the train's doors opened. The man paused, looking up and down the empty platform, "Now, this was a week ago," he continued as the man walked onto the train, disappearing from sight of the camera, "The last train on Friday night, Westminster station, and this man gets into the last car".

"'Car?'" Molly repeated curiously.

"They're cars, not carriages," he sighed, not looking back to him, sounding mildly frustrated, "It's a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system".

Molly turned and gave Sherlock and Amelia a look, making Amelia smile slightly in amusement.

"He said he liked trains," Sherlock commented quietly.

"Hmm," she hummed in agreement, looking as if she was struggling to hold back a laugh.

"And the next stop…" Shilcott went on, drawing their attention back to him. The footage had changed slightly, this time showing the train from directly across from the platform wall instead from a corner. The train was moving, but not a single compartment had anyone inside it, it was completely deserted, "St James's Park station…and…" he went on as the train came to a stop and all the doors slid open, but still no one stepped out, not even the man that they had very clearly seen enter the last car at the last station. Sherlock and Amelia immediately grew more interested, moving slightly closer to get a better look as the doors slid closed, after a moment, "I thought you'd like that," he glanced back to them, seeing them watching intently.

"Very interesting," Amelia muttered, staring at the screen, her mind whirling, "Would you mind showing it to us again? From the start, please".

He nodded and replayed the first bit of footage, "He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger…" he switched to the second piece of footage, "…and the car is empty at St James's Park station. Explain _that_ , Miss Wilson, Mr Holmes," he looked back to them, raising his eyebrows at them.

"Couldn't he have just jumped off?" Molly asked, frowning slightly. Sherlock absently shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

"There's a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit," Shilcott informed her, speaking quickly, almost sounding like Sherlock when he went off onto one of his deductions, "But there's something else," he looked back to Amelia and Sherlock, making them both focus on him, "The driver of that train hasn't been to work since. According to his flatmate, he's on holiday. Came into some money".

"Very interesting," Amelia nodded slowly, looking thoughtful as she cast the man on the screen a quick look, frowning at him. He looked vaguely familiar, perhaps from the papers? He obviously did something in politics, judging from his dress and the location of his first train station, but the camera angle wasn't clear enough to get a proper look at him to tell anything more.

Sherlock glanced at Amelia and Molly, "Bought off?" he remarked quietly to them.

Molly blinked, looking rather startled, having been staring at the side of his face for the last few moments, "Hmm?" she said blankly, making him sigh disapprovingly. She blushed faintly, looking away.

"That would be my conclusion," Amelia cut in, drawing Sherlock's gaze from Molly. She had to admit; she did feel a little awkward knowing that she had feelings for Sherlock while Molly was there, regardless of what events might have occurred in Molly's life of late. It was still painfully clear to her that Molly's feelings for Sherlock hadn't just faded, they were still there and she couldn't help feeling just a little uncomfortable about the idea.

She and Molly had been friends for years, they had first become friends when she had started helping out at Scotland Yard with the cases that Sherlock either didn't find interesting or was simply not in a fit state for Lestrade to feel comfortable asking him on, though, at the time, she wasn't exactly aware of that. She hated the idea that her feelings for Sherlock might change things between them, but she was at a loss as to what to do about it. She and Sherlock worked together and even though they weren't romantically involved, that still didn't change the fact that Amelia _did_ have feelings for him, just as she knew Molly still did. She didn't even feel comfortable confiding in Molly about her feelings, but she knew it was probably the best thing to do, just so that she could, hopefully, get her accepts that it was okay for her to feel this way and possibly avoid any awkward situations that could arise in the future.

Sherlock turned back to Shilcott, "So if the driver of the train was in on it, then the passenger _did_ get off," he said to the man.

"There's nowhere he could go," Shilcott insisted, shaking his head as he looked back to them, "It's a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There's no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels, nothing on any map. _Nothing_. The train never stops, and the man vanishes," he smiled slightly at them, looking pleased with himself, "Good, init?"

"Fascinating," Amelia breathed, eyeing the screen as the footage continued to play, over and over again, in a loop. She still had the funny feeling that she recognised the man, but it still wouldn't come to her.

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly, trying hard to think, "I know that face," he said quietly, his eyes flying open suddenly, "I need to think," he told them, turning on his heel and walking out of the room. The sound of the front door being opened and closed came a moment later.

Amelia watched him go, "Let's give him a moment," she said to Molly, who was looking slightly confused. She turned back to the computer screen, "He won't be doing much talking for the next five minutes".

…

Amelia and Molly waited for a while longer, Molly watching as the model train set went around its track. Amelia was busy thinking, trying to work out how it could be possible for a seemingly professional, middle aged man to step into a train car and simply vanish between the next stop, but no matter how hard she tried to figure it out, the answer remained annoyingly elusive. It probably didn't help matters that she so rarely took the Tube; she hated being stuck in a crowded train car when taking a taxi cab was much more comfortable. Eventually, she sighed and pulled her phone from her inner breast pocket of her blazer, checking the time.

"Okay, let's go find him," she said to Molly, tucking her phone away again. She turned to Shilcott, giving him a smile as she offered him her hand, "Thank you, Mr Shilcott. We will be touch".

"I look forward to it," Shilcott said brightly, looking rather excited at the idea of them actually taking on the case. He shook her hand, before releasing it.

"Have a good evening," she nodded to him, "We'll see ourselves out," she turned and left the room while Molly following behind her with an awkward smile to Shilcott, "Well, that was certainly worth the trip," she remarked quietly as they made their way down the short hallway. She reached the door and pulled it open, stepping out into the entrance hall. Sherlock was nowhere in sight.

"Is this what it's like?" Molly asked curiously, shutting the door behind her, "Working with Sherlock?"

Amelia paused, glancing back to her with a thoughtful look, "Well, I guess," she said after a moment, "Sherlock's behaving himself a little better than usual, I suppose, and there hasn't been any impropriate burst of happiness from him yet, but…yeah," she smiled at her, "Pretty much".

She sighed slightly, looking up and down the empty hallway, "Where do you think he's got to now?"

Sherlock, as it turned out, was very easy to find. He was standing on the staircase leading down to the lower levels of the building, his eyes closed and his hands stuck inside his coat pockets. Amelia and Molly slowly approached him, stopping a few steps below him as they eyed him. Molly looked slightly unsure, not quite knowing what he was doing, but Amelia didn't seem the slightest bit concerned, more curious, then anything. A moment past before Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he blinked, looking directly at them.

"The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes," he began speaking very fast, his eyes flickering back and forth between both women, "That journey took _ten_ minutes, ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park," he focused on Molly, still hardly pausing for breath, "So we're going to need maps, lots of maps, older maps, all the maps".

"Right," Molly nodded, looking mildly surprised that he was directing the request towards her, rather than Amelia, but she figured it was probably because she was filling in for John.

Sherlock started to make his way from the stairs, moving past them as Amelia and Molly moved closer to the wall to give him space to pass, "Fancy some chips?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Mmm," Amelia practically licked her lips at the thought. The sandwiches that Mrs Hudson had made for them at lunch time, since Baker Street was in desperate need for a shopping trip, seemed like a very long time ago now. She hadn't even realised just how hungry she was, "That sound's perfect, Holmes," she grinned, stepping down the last two steps and following behind him, heading for the front door.

"I know a fantastic fish shop just off Marylebone Road," Sherlock informed Molly, who looked slightly confused as she trailed behind them, "The owner always gives me extra portions".

"Did you get him off a murder charge?" Molly questioned curiously, making their way down another staircase for the ground floor.

"No, I helped him put up a set of shelves," he smiled, making her laugh.

"Imagine what he would have done if you _had_ got him off a murder charge," Amelia commented, amused. She knew the shop he was talking about, he had taken her and John there once before and the chips truly were the best she had ever had. Plus, the owner happened to be Irish, so she had been almost instantly welcomed and given an even bigger serving of chips then Sherlock had, along with a free crabstick.

"Sherlock?" Molly suddenly said from behind them, "Amelia?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to look back up to her.

Amelia stopped, too, just on the last step and glanced back to her, "Yeah?"

She continued down the stairs, her pace slowing slightly as she eyed them both, "What was today about?"

Amelia gave her a small smile, shrugging, "It was our way of trying to thank you," she replied, stepping down the step to stand beside Sherlock. While Molly might not have been involved in her own fake death as she had been with Sherlock's, Amelia was still incredibly grateful that she had still remained her friend even after everything had come out about James and her, and that she had kept her relatively updated on what was going on with John, Mrs Hudson, and even Lestrade. She hadn't been able to tell her very much, just the very basics of how they were doing, but it had meant everything to Amelia to know that her friends were doing okay. And then there was everything that she had done to help Sherlock, that also meant a great deal to her, too.

"For what?" she blinked, looking puzzled as she glanced between the two detectives.

"Everything that you did for me," Sherlock told her, stepping back slightly to give Molly room to step down the last step, moving around them.

"And for trying to keep me at least a little bit in the loop," Amelia added with a smile.

"It's okay," Molly tried shrugging it off, not looking at them as she began to head towards the front door of the building, "It was my pleasure".

"No, I mean it," Sherlock said sincerely, his expression soft.

She paused and looked back to him, "I don't mean 'pleasure,'" she muttered embarrassedly, avoiding his eyes for a moment, before forcing herself to look back to him, "I didn't mind. I wanted to".

"Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake because the one person who he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it possible".

"Without you, Molly," Amelia glanced at Sherlock, meeting his eyes, "Sherlock would be dead right now," she tried hard not to wince at that thought, swallowing as she turned back to Molly, "You should be very, very proud of yourself for that".

Sherlock took a deep breath, looking back to Molly, who was looking rather shocked by Amelia's words, "You can't do _this_ again, can you?" he said to her knowingly.

"I had a lovely day," Molly smiled at them, her voice sounding slightly choked with emotion, "I'd love to, I just…um…" she trailed off, looking down.

"Oh, congratulations, by the way," Sherlock remarked casually, following her gaze down to her ring finger on her left hand where a silver engagement ring was sitting, a small diamond sitting in the middle of the band with several smaller diamonds running along it.

"May I?" Amelia asked eagerly, holding out her hand. Molly smiled broadly and held out her hand for her to see the ring clearly, "It's beautiful," she said happily as she eyed the ring closely, delighted to see how happy she was, "The diamonds are nice and clear, the cut is perfect and very popular at the moment," she looked up to her, grinning, "All in all, it's a stunning ring, Molly. As your best friend and a woman who knows diamonds like her own hand, I definitely approve".

"You really like it?" Molly asked, still smiling widely. She had been a little nervous at first about what Amelia might think of it, considering that this was a woman who could wear a pair of shoes that cost more than her rent did for an entire month, but even though Amelia didn't have an issue with discussing money and certainly enjoyed spending it on herself, something that could often be seen as being showy by people, she had never made Molly feel uncomfortable about it. When they had gone out shopping, Amelia would never once say a thing about going to non-designer stores or to sales, and always seemed to enjoy herself. In fact, she possibly enjoyed herself even more then Molly did. She felt a bit silly for even thinking that she wouldn't like her ring, but it still made her feel happy that someone like Amelia with her sense of fashion and style liked it. Plus, Amelia was her best friend, which only made her even happier that she approved.

"Of course, it suits you perfectly. It's not so big that it looks like it's swallowing your finger, nor is it so small that you can barely see it. You have a real winner here; I can't wait to meet him".

She glanced at Sherlock, "He's not from work," she told him, realising that he didn't know. Sherlock smiled, "We meet through friends, the old-fashioned way," she continued, laughing slightly, "He's nice. We…he's got a dog. We…we go to the pub on weekends and he…I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family," she shook her head, looking a little embarrassed, "I've no idea why I'm telling you this".

"It's because you're happy," Amelia laughed fondly. She remembered when she was engaged, how happy she had been. Looking back on it now, she felt like they should have waited longer, they had still been so young, with so many different ideas about what they both wanted, but she had loved him, even if they might have only been married for a year before tragedy had struck, "So happy that you feel like you might burst unless you tell everyone. That's one of the wonderful aspects of being in love".

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said quietly, completely honest, truly happy for her, "You deserve it," the corner of his mouth twitched, "After all, not _all_ the men you fall for can turn out to be a sociopath".

"No?" Molly asked softly.

"No," he shook his head, giving her a bright smile as he leaned down and lightly kissed her cheek, before straightening. Molly closed her eyes, almost as if she was savouring the feeling as Amelia briefly looked away. There was that feeling again, the feeling of guilt and uncomfortableness, but she didn't really have anything to feel guilty about, did she? She and Sherlock weren't involved and even if they were, Molly was engaged and moving on with her life. Amelia cleared her throat slightly, shifting as she glanced at Sherlock, who nodded to her and began to head for the door. She hesitated slightly to pat Molly's arm as she passed by her, following after him.

It was still snowing as they stepped outside and Amelia immediately wrapped her arms around herself, while Sherlock popped the collar of his coat. He glanced at her and rolled his eyes slightly at the sight of her trying to warm herself and failing miserably with the very impropriate clothing she was wearing. He didn't say anything, simply sighing and pulling his coat off, holding it out to her.

Amelia blinked, staring at the coat and back to him, before shaking her head, "No, you keep it," she said hurriedly, trying hard not to cringe as a bit of snow hit the exposed skin on her neck, "I was planning to stop off at the shops before going to Baker Street".

"Amelia," he gave her a stern look, "Just wear the coat".

She couldn't help the small smile that crossed her face, though she did still feel tempted to argue with him, "Just this once," she agreed, taking it from him and pulling it on. She felt ridiculous; it was at least half an inch too long for her in the arms and it fell a good two inches above her ankles, but it was still very warm from his body heat. It almost felt like she was being hugged, though that still didn't make her feel any less silly, "What about you?" she frowned, looking at him in concern.

"I'll be fine," he shook his head, strolling down the garden path, forcing her to follow as Molly stepped out of the building behind them, "You go to the shops, while I stop off for the chips and we'll meet back at Baker Street".

"Deal".

Molly pulled her gloves from out of her bag and stepped down the path as she pulled them on, watching as the detectives headed off down the footpath together. It was a curious sight to see Amelia wearing Sherlock's coat, a sight that she found herself wondering just what on Earth she might have missed. She forced herself to pull her eyes off the pair and focus on the fact that her fiancé was waiting for her at home. Questions about Sherlock and Amelia, and the small stab of envy that washed over her would just have to wait.

…

Amelia climbed out of the cab, but not before quickly tossing Sherlock his coat back and closing the cab door on him before he could try to argue. She waved as the cab pulled away and headed up the street, disappearing around a corner with Sherlock still inside it. She did slightly regret not keeping the coat as the cold, early evening air made her shiver, but she just hadn't felt right about wearing it and she couldn't possibly walk around the supermarket with it on.

A small car park stretched out before her as she began to make her way across it to the front doors of the supermarket, her heels clicking on the ground as a young woman with a shopping cart and a young toddler passed her by. She probably could have waited until the morning to go shopping, but it made her feel guilty to see Mrs Hudson climbing those narrow stairs with her bad hip and a tray of food for her and Sherlock. Her phone dinged suddenly, and she reached into her blazer pocket as she continued walking, pulling out the phone to see that she had been sent a message.

 _I hope your aunt is doing better._

 _Call me._

 _Robert._

She blinked in surprise, not having expected that he, of all people, would be sending her a text, and what was this about her…oh, of course. The cover up story for why she suddenly took off to London and couldn't go to work. Well, that story was going to be completely blown, soon enough, and then she highly doubted if Robert would ever wish to speak to her again. She paused outside the front of the shop and the doors slide open as a young man walked out with his hands in his pockets of his hoddie. She briefly glanced at him, finding it a little curious that he didn't have any shopping bags on him, before shaking her head and focusing back on her phone. She had just began to send back a text assuring Robert that her aunt was okay and that they would talk later, when her shoulder was suddenly shoved roughly. She lost her grip on her phone and it toppled out of her hands to land on the floor, the screen shattering on impact.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, turning to glare at the person who had knocked into her, when she suddenly found herself being dragged behind a nearby pillar and shoved roughly against it, the side of her face forcefully pressed against the smooth surface while her arm was painfully twisted behind her back. Fear flooded her system, fear of what this person was going to do to her. He clearly wasn't after money; he would have snatched her handbag by now if that was the case, which meant that it was something else. Something sharp pricked the back of her neck and her eyes widened, her fear increasing as she realised that it was a needle, she had been injected by something. Everything began to grow blurry as whatever it was took effect and her knees gave way.

Her last thought before completely losing consciousness was that she really should have stayed with Sherlock.

….

Sherlock arrived back at Baker Street and made his way upstairs, not bothering to take off his coat and scarf as he stepped into the kitchen. Amelia hadn't beaten him back, not that he had expected her to, and so he placed her bag of chips on the kitchen table for her to eat when she got back. He took his own bag into the living room and moved to stand before his wall of information, staring at it thoughtfully as he began eating, using his fingers to pick up the chips and pop them into his mouth. Downstairs, there was a loud knocking noise of the front door, but he barely paid it any attention.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson," Mary's voice came after a moment, carrying up the stairs, Mrs Hudson apparently having answered the door. She sounded worried, even a little panicked, "Sorry, I…I think someone's got John, John Watson".

He frowned, turning towards the open landing door, listening closely.

"Hang on!" Mrs Hudson said loudly from below, sounding confused, "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Oh, I'm his fiancée".

Sherlock quickly moved to the door and stepped out onto the landing, still carrying his chips, hearing Mary's footsteps rushing up the stairs, "Mary?" he called, concerned. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. Mary appeared, dashing up the last few steps to him, her face pale, "What's wrong?" he asked, frowning.

Marry hurriedly reached into her pocket and pulled her phone out of her pocket, moving to his side, "Someone sent me this," she explained quickly, holding the phone out for him to see the screen, "At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's not," she shook her head, focusing on the screen, "It's a skip-code".

He frowned, glancing at her as he eyed her for a moment, finding it strange that not only did she know what a skip-code _was_ , she was able to _recognise_ one. He filed that away for later and looked back to the phone, reading the first message:

 **Save souls now!  
John or James Watson?**

He glanced at Mary, "First word, then every third," he remarked, working it out easily, looking back to the message, "'Save John Watson'".

Mary scrolled down, revealing the last of the message:

 **Saint or Sinner?  
James or John?  
The more is Less?**

Saint James the Less, that was where John was! He turned back to Mary, just as his phone rang loudly in his pocket, sound of the chorus of 'Last Friday' by Katy Perry breaking through the tense silence. It was Amelia's tone, she had changed it on him that day when he had left his phone on the table and left the room briefly. He balanced his bag of chips on one hand as he pulled his phone from his pocket, but what he saw made him freeze, the chips slipping out of his hands and landing on the floor, but he didn't even notice. It wasn't just a text; it was a picture, a picture of Amelia unconscious, her makeup badly smudged around her eyes and down her cheeks, her lipstick completely gone, but it was almost impossible to tell what state she was in completely, the image was to dark, but it was very clear to him that she had been taken, too, and that she was in just as much danger as John.

"Amelia's been taken, too," he said urgently to Mary, panicking gripping him for his two best friends, "Come on!" he shouted, bolting for the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Mary gasped, hurrying along behind him.

"St James the Less. It's a church. Twenty minutes by car," he raced down the stairs and down the hallway to the front door, running out onto the street. He quickly looked up and down the street as Mary joined him, "Did you drive here?"

"Er, yes…" she replied quickly, nodding.

He stepped out onto the road, pacing frantically, "It's too slow, it's too slow…" he muttered, completely ignoring the fast approaching car that only just managed to swerve away from him, the driver blaring the horn angrily as it took off. He couldn't think of anything else right now but getting to Amelia and John, and rescuing them. Nothing else mattered.

"Sherlock, what are we waiting for?" Mary cried urgently, running out to stand beside him in the middle of the road, panic and desperation on her face.

Sherlock turned and looked down the road, where a motorbike was fast approaching them. He stared it down, unblinking, "This," he said calmly, holding up his hand, forcing the bike to come to a squealing halt just in time to avoiding hitting them.

…

Sherlock and Mary raced through the streets on the bike, Mary clutching onto Sherlock as she sat on the back of the bike. With every turn that they took, Sherlock calculated the time it would take to reach the church, not caring about speed limits or even about the other road users as he continued to race as fast as he possibly could without risking killing themselves. Mary's phone dinged loudly and she quickly held it up, reading the message:

 _Getting warmer, Mr Holmes._

 _You have about ten minutes._

Mary held it around Sherlock's body so that he could see, "What does it mean?" she asked loudly over the noise of the engine as they continued to speed through the streets, "What are they going to do to them?"

"I don't know!" he shouted back to her.

A few minutes passed before the phone dinged again, Mary hurriedly showed it to Sherlock, the message reading:

 _Eight minutes and counting…_

He swallowed hard, focusing back on the road and increasing his speed, but he needn't have bothered as they came across a roadblock, police tape cordoning off the road ahead as two police officers seemed to be speaking to the drivers of two waiting cars. He slammed on the breaks, coming to a stop, "Damn!" he growled, feeling like there was a ticking clock hanging over his head.

He frantically looked around, when he noticed a long set of steps that lead down between two buildings. He calculated the new route, estimating that it would only take them five minutes to get to the church. He didn't need to think twice before turning the bike and taking off up onto the pavement and down the stairs, ignoring the police officer shouting after them that they couldn't go that way. They reached the bottom of the stairs and made it back onto a proper road, racing onwards towards Buckingham Palace. They had just made it around the roundabout and were speeding off down the road, when Mary received another text:

 _Better hurry._

 _Things are_

 _Hotting up here…_

They continued through the streets, racing across a bridge, when they found themselves being blocked by a slow-moving lorry truck. Sherlock tried finding a way to get around it, but a bus was coming in the opposite duration. He cursed furiously, the delay costing them a minute of precious time, before the opposite side of the road was finally clear and he was able to speed past the lorry, taking off again, trying to buy back that missed bit of time.

The phone dinged again and Mary checked it, the message reading:

 _Stay of execution._

 _You've got two more minutes._

It still wasn't enough time, not nearly enough time. Sherlock desperately searched his mind, bringing up a mental map of the road ahead of them, their current rout taking three minutes. However, if he was to go in a straight line, they would easily be there in one minute. He swerved the bike off the road and up onto the pavement, heading straight down a pedestrian underpass, speeding through the narrow walkway, dodging around pillars as they went, when they finally made it out of the pass. He drove the bike up a set of steps, finding it slightly more difficult to do so then going down, but they finally managed to make it up onto the street. They sped along a metal fence that surrounded a large park that was filled with people gathered around what appeared to be a massive bonfire.

There was another loud ding, Mary quickly checking it:

 _What a shame, Mr Holmes._

 _John and Amelia, they seemed like nice people._

She showed the message to Sherlock, confused, "What does it mean?" she called loudly.

Sherlock looked back over the crowd of people, when it hit him. His eyes widened in horror, watching as a man lit the bonfire and the entire thing went up in flames, while the onlookers cheered. Where else would you keep two kidnapped people?

"Oh my God!" he gasped, his only thought on getting to that bonfire. He increased their speed and raced up onto the pavement, the tires squealing as the bike raced through a gate and into the park, all the while the crowd continued celebrating and cheering.

"Help!" John's voice cried out from the bonfire.

A little girl screamed as John's cry was heard, the crowd gasping in shock and horror as they realised that someone was trapped inside the fire. Sherlock barely even stopped the bike before he was jumping off it and running towards the fire, pushing and shoving people out of his way, Mary following close behind him.

"Help!" Amelia's voice shouted, sounding terrified.

"Move!" Sherlock yelled, desperately trying to fight his way through the crowd to get to them, the sounds of his friends desperate cries for help spurring him on, "Move! Move! Move! Move!" he finally managed to reach the fire, the flames now almost entirely consuming it, "Amelia!" he called urgently, "John!"

"John!" Mary practically screamed, right on Sherlock's heels, "Get out, John! Amelia!"

He reached the fire, not caring in the slightest bit about his own safety as he frantically began trying to toss pieces of burning wood out of his way, his only thought on getting Amelia and John out of the flames, "Amelia!" he shouted, tossing things out of his way, "John!"

"Sherlock!" Amelia's voice came, but it sounded much weaker than it had before.

"John!" Mary cried, standing back from the flames, unable to do anything but watch as Sherlock desperately tried to reach his friends. The crowd simply stared, to horrified to do anything.

"Help!" John called out, his voice sounding chocked.

"Amelia!" Sherlock finally caught sight of a bright pink piece of a sleeve, relief bubbling up inside him as he practically hurled himself straight into the middle of the flames. He grabbed the fabric, feeling Amelia's arm beneath the fabric and pulled with every ounce of strength that he had, managing to pull Amelia's entire body out of the flames, her heels lifelessly dragging on the ground as he tugged her out and onto the ground, where she collapsed, coughing and chocking, gasping for air, "Amelia!" he said frantically, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look back up to him, "Amelia!"

She looked back up to his face, weakly grabbing the front of his shirt, her own covered in black soot, "John…" she rasped out, before breaking down in a cough that shook her entire body.

He nodded and carefully let her go, immediately running back into the flames and grabbing John by his arms, dragging him back out. He barely even seemed to struggle as he pulled John across the ground and over to where Amelia was still coughing on the ground, rolling him onto his back. John stared up at him, looking very dazed and with blood tricklingly down the side of his head.

"John?" Sherlock called worriedly to him, looming over him as Mary moved to his side, "John!"

"John," Mary covered her mouth, struggling to hold back tears as she lightly pattered John's cheek, trying to wake him.

Sherlock quickly moved back over to Amelia, who seemed far more alert and aware of what was going on, she was just suffering from a bit of breathing difficulty from the smoke. He leant over to the top of her, scanning her face worriedly, "Amelia?"

"I'm…okay…" she gasped out, coughing roughly before shaking her head, closing her eyes tightly.

….

It wasn't long before ambulances and fire trucks began to arrive, while the police following to question to the crowd. Amelia and John had been immediately trolled into the back of their separate ambulances and quickly given oxygen and their airways checked for any soot as they were rushed to the nearest hospital. Sherlock had gone with Amelia, something she probably would have been very grateful for had she not been still struggling to catch her breath and desperately trying not to let herself burst into tears.

They had soon arrived at the hospital and she spent the next four hours being carefully monitored while they did several tests on her, but she was lucky. Sherlock had managed to pull her from the flames before any serious damage could be done and it was determined that she was suffering from a mild form of smoke inhalation. She had been allowed to go home, as long as she had someone to watch over her and given very strict instructions to call for an ambulance if she began coughing up blood or experiencing breathing difficulties again. John wasn't so lucky; they were keeping him in overnight considering the fact that he had also received a head injury, but Mary had assured Sherlock when he had gone to check on John that the moment he was out of hospital, she would be sending him over to see them. Apparently that had been what John was doing when he had been kidnapped.

The ride back to Baker Street seemed to take forever as Amelia sat tightly wrapped in Sherlock's coat, staring blankly outside the cab's windows as the city flashed by. She tried hard not to imagine what she must look like right now, though she had been able to wash her face of makeup and soot before they had left. Her hair was a frizzy, tangled mess and her skin looked horribly pale with her eyes very red from the smoke, and she didn't even want to think about her clothing right now. She highly doubted if she would ever be able to even wear her shoes again that she had sitting on the floor beside her bare feet, but quite possibly for the first time in a very long time, she really couldn't even bring herself to feel upset about that.

Finally, they arrived at Baker Street and Sherlock half had to guide her up the stairs, pausing briefly as they reached the top for Amelia to cough harshly into her hand. Once the coughing had subsided, she excused herself from Sherlock to drag herself into the shower, needing to scrub herself of the smell of smoke before it made her ill, but even after she had climbed out of the shower and lifted a lock of hair up to her nose, she could still smell the strong scent of smoke. She was rather surprised when she opened the door, a towel wrapped tightly around herself, to find one of Sherlock's shirts and dressing gowns sitting in a stacked pile on the floor before the door. She hadn't even stopped to think about clothing before the shower. That had to be a first.

She quickly pulled the shirt on, though she was mildly disappointed to find that it really didn't fall very far, only just covering everything. She supposed that was why he had included the dressing gown and she hurried pulled that on and tightly tied the belt around her waist. She didn't bother to go to the living room or kitchen; instead she turned and headed straight down the hallway to Sherlock's bedroom, where she was quite unsurprised to find him already waiting as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, her voice sounding slightly horse. She shifted a little awkwardly on the spot, "For the clothing and everything else".

"How do you feel?" he asked, eyeing her closely.

"Smoked," she tried to smile weakly, "But I think the humid air of the shower helped to open my airways a bit more".

"I did warn you about wearing so much pink".

She laughed, though she half wished she hadn't as it very quickly turned into a wheezy cough. She shook her head when he stood and moved towards her, uncovering her mouth, "I'm fine," she told him, her voice sounding even worse now, "You're right, about the pink. I think that in future I'll avoid wearing so much of it for the safety of myself and others".

Sherlock's didn't smile; he simply continued to watch her as heavy silence fell over the room. She looked away from him, absently toying with the sleeve of the dressing gown, "You're not fine," he remarked suddenly, making her head snap back up to him. He took a step towards her, "You're very far from being 'fine'".

"Sherlock, I'm tired," Amelia said with a warning note to her voice. She stepped around him and moved around to the other side of the bed, purposely avoiding looking at him as she pulled the covers back and slipped into the bed, curling up on her side with her back facing him.

"Very well," his voice carried over to her, sounding almost resigned, "I'll let you sleep".

She heard his footsteps start to move towards the door and a flicker of guilt and panic bubbled up inside her, "No, wait," she called, sitting upright and quickly looking back over to see him just about to close the door, looking back to her with one eyebrows raised. She sighed, closing her eyes tightly, "Would you…please, don't go, not yet," she inwardly winced, feeling ridiculous and embarrassed. She forced herself to look back to him, biting her bottom lip, "You're right, I'm not fine and I really could use a comforting prescience right now".

Sherlock hesitated slightly, a brief look of uncertainty crossing his face before he nodded to her. He stepped back over to the bed and slowly moved to sit beside her, his back resting against the headboard of the bed as he clasped his hands on his stomach. He hadn't even removed his shoes. She edged closer to him and reached over to unclasp his hands, lifting his left arm up so that she could move so that she was curled up against his side, resting her head against his chest. He tensed and she could easily hear his heartbeat increase very slightly, but after a moment he did relax slightly and lowered his arm down around her.

She couldn't stop the tears from coming then, even after all that she had tried to do to shove them away, with that one simple gesture she just couldn't stop herself from breaking down any longer, her hand clutching onto Sherlock's shirt as she sobbed. She was so tired of being kidnapped, of feeling helpless and afraid for her life, and now it all just seemed to come crashing down onto her. She was grateful that Sherlock didn't say anything; just simply let her sob into his chest because that's what she needed right now, not words, just simply someone who would be there to hold her.

 _ **Poor Amelia, she really does seem to keep being kidnapped, doesn't she? And pink really doesn't seem like a very good idea to wear around Sherlock Holmes, it could lead to fatal consequences. Next chapter, Amelia meets mummy and daddy Holmes, John learns of where Amelia was the last two years, and Sherlock just wishes that the ground would open up and swallow him. I hoped you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	6. Chapter 6 The Empty Hearse, Part 5

_**The Empty Hearse, Part 5**_

It was the morning after the bonfire and Amelia had woken up to find herself feeling strangely refreshed, despite the small breakdown that she had the night before. Sherlock had once again woken before her and was nowhere in sight, but his side of the bed was still warm, telling her that he could have only have woken mere minutes before she had. But the fact that he had actually spent the night there with her as she slept was the least surprising thing to happen to her that morning, in fact, it barely even cut it.

She still couldn't quite believe it as she sat in John's old chair, staring across to where an older couple were sitting on the sofa, the woman happily prattling away about something. However, this couple wasn't just anyone, they were Sherlock and Mycroft's _parents_ , Amelia hadn't even known that they would be visiting until the doorbell had rung and Sherlock had a expression appear on his face as if he was wishing for a swift death. Mr and Mrs Holmes seemed to be quite normal, almost shockingly so. Amelia could definitely see where Sherlock got his looks, he and his father almost had the exact same nose, but Sherlock had his mother's eyes. She could even very slightly see a bit of Mycroft in there, but not quite as clearly.

When the couple had first arrived, Mrs Holmes had almost instantly pulled Amelia into a tight hug and began going on about how she had heard so much about her from Mycroft and Sherlock, much to Amelia's surprise and slight embarrassment. Sherlock had looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, much to Amelia's amusement. He had apparently been dreading the arrival of his parents in London, something about the two of them getting tickets to see a musical and Mycroft having promised them that he would take them to see it. He had, of course, failed to mention anything to her about them paying them a visit, so she really couldn't say that she was feeling very sympathetic towards him over the whole thing. Quite honestly, she was fascinated to get the chance to meet Mr and Mrs Holmes.

Amelia smiled and nodded, listening closely to everything that Mrs Holmes was saying. It might have been a story about a missing lottery ticket, but she still wanted to try and make a good impression on Sherlock's parents, though, judging from their reaction when they had first arrived, she really didn't need to worry too much about them liking her. She glanced across to where Sherlock was sitting in his chair, his eyes closed as he drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. Amelia couldn't help feeling incredibly grateful that she had gotten the chance to get dressed before their visitors had arrived.

Mycroft's people had apparently dropped off another set of clothing for her while they had been at the hospital; Amelia suspected Sherlock might have spoken to Mycroft while she had been getting an X-ray because today's clothing was far more warm then the day before, and there wasn't a single pink thing in sight, either. She had been sent a pair of blue skinny jeans; a two-in-one jumper that had a white shirt attached to a pale grey jumper, black ankle boots with a chunky heel, and a pair of stud earrings with a yellow centrepiece and gold scalloped edge. She had even been sent, much to her relief, a woollen, dark yellow scarf and a dark blue, flared trench coat. Her eyes were still a bit red after the fire and so she had simply used a bit of eyeliner, hoping that it wouldn't irritate her eyes even more. She was keeping her hair down, unable to be bothered to put it up, and she was wearing pink matte lipstick, which she really wasn't counting as wearing pink.

"…which wasn't the way I'd put it at all," Mrs Holmes was saying, drawing Amelia's attention back to her, "Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I noticed it was missing. I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?'" Sherlock grimaced and his head tilted forwards slightly, before jerking back up, almost as if he was nodding off to sleep. Amelia fixed a smile onto her face as she discreetly slid her foot across the floor to lightly nudge his, watching him from the corner of her eyes as he sighed heavily and shot her a quick look, before pressing his fingertip together beneath his chin. Mrs Holmes glanced at her husband beside her, seeming to be completely oblivious, "He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"'Fraid so,'" Mr Holmes nodded in agreement.

Amelia smiled at them, amused, "My dad was the same," she remarked fondly, shaking her head, "He lost his Rolex watch for an entire year because it slipped down the back of our sofa. Mum almost killed him; she had given it to him for their first anniversary".

"I don't blame her, dear," Mrs Holmes told her, sighing as she cast her husband another mildly exasperated look, "This one is always losing the keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses…"

"…glasses," Mr Holmes said in unison. Amelia laughed slightly, finding the way that the couple tended to finish each other's sentences quite cute.

"Blooming things. I said, 'why don't you get a chain, wear 'em round your neck?' And he says, 'what, like Larry Greyson?'"

"…Larry Greyson ".

Sherlock suddenly stood, buttoning his blazer, "So, did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?" he asked, sounding bored out of his mind as he walked over towards the couple, stepping up onto the coffee table and across to stand on the sofa between them, looking up at his wall of information. Mrs Holmes leaned out of his way, looking slightly startled, while Mr Holmes stared up at his son.

Amelia shook her head, her smile growing slightly strained, "Sherlock," she began, keeping her voice light, "I believe that your mother was just explaining _how_ they found it, which rather implies that they _did_ find it, does it not?"

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder to her, "Oh, yes," he said absently, clearly really not very interested. He quickly returned is attention back to the wall, making her roll her eyes.

"Yes, thank goodness," Mrs Holmes went on, glancing around Sherlock's legs to Amelia, "We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower…but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament," Sherlock frowned, looking down at her. She shrugged, "Some big debate going on".

"Ah, yes," Amelia nodded, making Sherlock look curiously back over to her, "That would be the Anti-Terrorism act," she explained, "I read about that this morning".

Suddenly, the living room door swung open and John stepped in, making Amelia and Sherlock over to him in surprise. They had both known that Mary was going to try to talk him into coming, but neither of them had actually expected him to come, at least, not this soon.

"John?" Sherlock blinked, startled.

"Oh, hello, John," Amelia greeted, recovering from her own surprise. She uncrossed her legs and stood.

"Sorry," John glanced quickly over to Mr and Mrs Holmes, "You're busy".

"Er, no, no, no," Sherlock said hurriedly, hopping down off the couch and reaching down to pull his mother up onto her feet, clearly seeing it as his chance to get them to leave, "They were just leaving".

"Oh, were we?" Mrs Holmes asked, sounding slightly confused as she was pulled up onto her feet, Sherlock starting to usher them towards the door.

"Yes".

"Sherlock…" Amelia frowned slightly, her tone disapproving. She knew that Sherlock wasn't exactly thrilled that his parents had come to see him, but that didn't mean that he had to jump at the chance to throw them out like this. Perhaps she viewed this sort of thing differently than other people did, considering the fact that both her parents had died before she even turned twenty, but she knew that if her parents had still been alive, she would be delighted to spend time with them. Hell, she would give _anything_ to just be able to spend five more minutes with them both, let alone an hour and to see Sherlock there, being so eager to send his parents off, was something she really did have to admit was something she found hard to understand. Besides, the Holmes's were lovely people, she like them.

"No, no, if you've got a case…" John began hastily.

"It's not a case, John," Amelia cut in, shaking her head as she glanced at Sherlock, who was smiling a little tensely. She could practically hear him internally screaming at his parents to leave, and she probably would have found it highly amusing in any other situation.

"No, no, no," Sherlock agreed hurriedly, looking back over to John, "Not a case," he glanced back to his mother, "Go, go," he told her, still smiling quite tensely, "Bye".

"Yeah, well, we're here 'till Saturday, remember!" Mrs Holmes reminded him, raising her voice slightly to be heard as Mr Holmes stood, moving to his wife's side.

"Yes, great, wonderful," he sighed, trying to heard them towards the door, "Just get out".

"Well, give us a ring".

"Very nice, yes, good. Get _out_ ".

John moved out of the way of the door as Sherlock ushered the couple out onto the landing. John glanced at Amelia, who shook her head and took a seat on the armrest of John's old chair, her eyes moving to rest on the door as Sherlock tried shutting it, only for something to block it. Sherlock looked down at whatever it was, seeming slightly startled and, curious, Amelia leaned forward slightly and could just make out what appeared to be Mrs Holmes's heavy, black boot preventing the door from closing.

"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock," Mrs Holmes said quietly to Sherlock, who looked quickly back up to her face. Amelia leaned back, not wishing to be caught listening in even though, well, that _was_ what she was doing, "All that time, people thinking the worst of you," she continued softly. Sherlock cast a glance back over his shoulder, checking on John, who had made his way over to peer out the window to give them privacy, before he caught Amelia's eye. She gave him a slightly guilty smile and shrugged, knowing that she had been caught out, but he simply sighed, resigned, and turned back to his mother, "We're just _so_ please it's all over, and Amelia seems like such a lovely girl, Sherlock…"

Sherlock grimaced and tried to slam the door shut, the back of his neck colouring slightly, much to Amelia's amusement. Much to his frustration, Mrs Holmes's foot didn't budge.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" Mr Holmes told him in a very fatherly tone.

"Mm-hm," he hummed hurriedly, just wanting them to _leave_.

"She _worries_ ".

"Promise?" Mrs Holmes whispered, sounding stern.

Sherlock hesitated, glancing quickly back over his shoulder, though he seemed far more concerned about John overhearing what was being said then Amelia, perhaps because Amelia had already heard more than enough. Once he was sure that John wasn't listening, his back to them, he turned back to his parents and leaned slightly closer towards them, "Promise," he muttered, to quiet for even Amelia to be able to catch. His mother smiled broadly at him; looking positively delighted as she reached out to stoke his cheek, "Oh, for God…" he groaned, desperately trying to slam the door shut again, but her foot was still in the way.

"Amelia!" his mother called, and Amelia blinked and stood, moving over to stand by the door. Sherlock sighed loudly, pulling the door open very slightly so that his parents could see her. The older woman smiled at her, "It was wonderful to meet you at last".

Amelia returned her smile, feeling quite pleased, "Thank you, Mrs Holmes," she said sincerely, "It was a pleasure to meet you both at last, as well. I would love to get to know you both better…"

"Okay!" Sherlock cut in, speaking a little louder than necessary. He forced a very tight smile onto his face, turning back to his parents, "Goodbye. _Now_ ," he practically ordered, grabbing the edge of the door and moving to shut it, this time actually managing to do it without his mother preventing it.

"Aww, how sweet," the brunet smirked, turning to Sherlock, who had his eyes tightly shut, still facing the door, "I think they like me".

He cracked his eyes open, glancing back to her, "Mycroft told them about…" he paused, glancing quickly over to John, before looking back to her and lowering his voice, "The kiss".

"Yes, I expected as much," she nodded, speaking just as softly. She wasn't ready to tell people about that kiss, not even John, and judging from Sherlock's own reaction, neither was he, "I think they're both very sweet, Holmes. I like them".

"Of course you do," he rolled his eyes, sighing as he turned away from the door and looked across to where John was still not facing them, by the windows. Amelia smiled and moved back over to John's old armchair, taking a seat. He shifted a little awkwardly on the spot, "Sorry about that," he said to John, nodding his head back towards the door.

"No, it's fine," John shook his head, finally turning around to face them, "Clients?"

He hesitated, "Just my parents," he said causally, walking across the room and over to the dining table.

"Your parents?" he repeated, blinking at him. He looked over to Amelia, who smiled and nodded, knowing just how he felt. She had the same reaction, though it had been more internal, since she couldn't have very well done it in front of Mr and Mrs Holmes.

"In town for a few days".

" _Your_ parents?"

"Yes, apparently Mycroft invited them up here," Amelia remarked, crossing her legs and leaning comfortably back into her seat, "He's promised to take them a matinee performance of 'Les Mis,'" she purposely put on a French accent for the last two words, unable to help herself. At least her French accent was near perfect after having spent most of her early schooling and childhood in France, unlike Sherlock's nasally accent.

"Hmm," Sherlock grimaced slightly, throwing Amelia a quick look, telling her that he had noticed what she had just done, "He tried to talk _me_ into doing it," he sighed, turning back to John.

John's eyes widened slightly, still seeming rather surprised, "Those were your parents?" he dashed back across to the window, peering down at the street below.

"Yes".

"Well…" he paused, laughing slightly as he looked back across to Sherlock, who was looking a bit confused by his reaction, "That is not what I…" he trailed off, glancing back out the window.

He frowned, glancing at Amelia, before looking back to John, "What?" he questioned, his confusion growing.

"I…I mean," he looked back to him, "They're just so…" Sherlock tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at him. Amelia bit her lip, wondering whether or not she ought to intervene, but before she could decide what to do…, "…ordinary," he finished, smiling slightly, not quite able to believe it.

Sherlock looked away from him, sighing, "It's a cross I have to bare".

"Oh, don't be so mean," Amelia scolded lightly, giving him a disapproving look, "They're lovely people, there's a lot worse people to be related to then that, I can assure you," her brother, for one.

John laughed slightly, stepping away from the window and looking around the room. His eyes lingered for a moment on the dark blue coat, yellow scarf, and bright orange designer handbag that was hanging up on the hooks by the living room door, clearly Amelia's. There was also a pair of heeled sandals sitting on the floor by the coffee table, the very same ones she had been wearing when they had came to announce that they were alive and, apparently, needed help. So, it looked like Amelia had been staying at Baker Street, he wondered what that meant and why she hadn't gone to a hotel, instead. He stopped, a sudden thought occurring to him, one that had nothing to do with just what might be going on between the two detectives, and looked back over to Sherlock, "Did _they_ know, too?" he asked, any laughter he might have felt before vanishing.

Sherlock didn't look at him, if anything he only seemed to be trying hard to avoid meeting his eyes, "Hmm?" he hummed, tight lipped.

"That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek," he clarified, not willing to let him _or_ Amelia off the hook just yet.

He turned away and leant over to the dining table, picking a piece of invisible fluff off the keyboard of his open laptop, "Maybe," he muttered uncomfortably.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, looking triumphant as Amelia winced, "So that's why they weren't at the funeral".

"Sorry," Sherlock said quickly, finally looking up to him, waving his hands around, "Sorry again," John nodded sarcastically, his turn not to look at him as he began to wonder over towards the living room door. He sighed, glancing at Amelia, who gave him a weak smile and nodded encouragingly. He looked back over to John, his expression growing serious, "Sorry," he said softly, truly meaning it.

John took a deep breath and briefly looked over to him, before focusing on Amelia, "What about you?" he began, eyeing her as she shifted uncomfortably, "Where were you the last two years?"

"You're not going to like it," she warned warily.

"Just tell me".

"I was in Yorkshire," she admitted, and he stared at her, his expression growing hard, "I lived in a little country village as a music teacher at the local primary school, was on the pub trivial team, and enjoyed going for Sunday early morning walks".

"You were in Britain the entire time?"

"Yes".

John turned away from her, shaking his head in disbelief. She had been in the same country the entire time and he hadn't known, she had never bothered to let him know, "Bloody hell…" he breathed, unable to look at her.

Amelia hesitated, glancing at Sherlock, who gave her a small, reassuring nod. She took a deep breath and stood, taking a step closer to John, "I'm sorry," she told him quietly, "And I know that will never be enough to earn your forgiveness, perhaps it shouldn't be, but we didn't do any of this to hurt you. We would never have done that to you, John, please believe me".

He turned back to her, his expression still hard, "Why didn't you ever call me?" he demanded, his voice cold, "Texted? Emailed? Hell, sent me a postcard?"

"I…don't know, I truly don't," she tried to tell him, "Sherlock and I both agreed to keep you in the dark until we could tell you together, though, at the time, I didn't expect it to be so public," she shot Sherlock a quick look before focusing back on John, swallowing, "And…well, I suppose that I wasn't really sure how to even begin to tell you, after all, you would never have believed that we were alive without seeing us with your own eyes, so I just never even tried," she took a deep breath, meeting his eyes, her voice carrying a note of pleading as she went on, "I am so, sorry, John, we _both_ are. Please, if you believe anything at all, than believe me when I tell you that".

John didn't answer, looking away from her again, not quite seeming to know really what to say after all of that. It had been bad enough knowing that Sherlock had been running about the rest of the world, but to hear that Amelia had been so close was what really got him. It would have been better, _easier_ for him to handle if she had been living on the other side of the world then that.

A tense silence fell over them as Amelia ducked her head guilty, moving to sit back in the armchair. Sherlock looked back and forth between the two of them before clearing his throat, looking back to John, "See you've shaved it off, then," he commented, gesturing up to his upper lip, John's now noticeably bare.

"Yeah," he nodded, glancing over to him, "Wasn't working for me".

"Mm, I'm glad".

"Wise choice," Amelia mumbled, shifting a little awkwardly in the chair, unable to quite meet John's eyes now.

John still heard her, raising his eyebrows at the two of them, "What, you two didn't like it?"

"No," Sherlock smiled faintly, "I prefer my doctor's clean shaven".

He returned the smile, "That's not a sentence you hear every day," he remarked, and, after hesitating, moved to take a seat in Sherlock's chair. He looked across to Amelia, eyeing her for a moment, but he didn't seem as if he was about to start shouting, which was a great relief, "How are you feeling after…last night?" he asked, concerned.

Amelia blinked a little bit in surprise, "A lot better, thank you," she replied, glancing at Sherlock, thinking of last night. She had cried until she hadn't been able to cry anymore, falling asleep still with her head on Sherlock's chest and clutching onto the front of his shirt. She couldn't help feeling just a bit embarrassed, it was unlike her to be so clingy and she couldn't even begin to imagine what Sherlock must have thought about the whole thing, but she was very grateful that he had stayed with her even when he didn't need to. She looked back up to John, running her eyes over the few scratches that he had on the side of his face, "What about you?" she questioned, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, not bad," he replied, shrugging, "Bit…smoked".

"I know the feeling," she agreed, nodding. Her chest was still a bit tender and she had woken up with a sore throat.

His expression grew serious, looking over to Sherlock, "Last night, who did that? And why did they target Amelia and me?"

"I don't know," Sherlock told him, frowning.

"Is it someone trying to get to you through us?" he continued, nodding over to Amelia as he spoke, "Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know," he shook his head, looking back across to the wall above the sofa, "I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous," he walked over towards the wall, eyeing it thoughtfully, "Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange".

John frowned, watching him, "'Give his life?'" he repeated.

"That's what Mycroft said," Amelia informed him, running her eyes over the wall from her seat, "Quite frankly, we really don't know much, just that there is an underground terrorist network that is planning to attack London in the very near future".

"These are our rats, John," Sherlock gestured to the wall covered in maps and photographs, turning his back on them.

"Rats?" John questioned, sitting forward in his chair.

"Our markers," Amelia explained, glancing across to him, "The people that we are keeping a close eye on".

"Agents," Sherlock went on, speaking fast as he nodded, "Low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded," he stepped closer to the wall, taking a deep breath, "If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normal, but the sixth…" he pointed to a photograph of a well dressed man, the very same man that had stepped onto the Tube and disappeared between the two stops.

John squinted at the picture and frowned, "I know him, don't I?" he pointed at the photo.

"Lord Moran," he remarked, looking back to the picture, "Peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment".

"Yes," he nodded, recalling reading about the man in the newspaper.

"He's been working for North Korea since 1996".

"What?" he exclaimed, his eyes widening.

"He's our main marker," Amelia said, standing and moving to stand beside Sherlock, her eyes fixed on the picture of Moran, "And quite possibly the most dangerous man of all of our suspects".

"He's just done something very suspicious indeed," Sherlock commented, his voice light.

Amelia stepped over to the dining table and brought up the video from the Tube station, before picking up the open laptop and stepping over to hand it to John, who blinked slightly in confusion as he settled it onto his lap, "Take a look at this," she told him, watching over his shoulder as Sherlock came to join them.

John hit 'play' and watched the footage, frowning very slightly after a moment, "Yeah, that's…odd," he said once the footage finished, Moran completely disappearing. He glanced up to Amelia and Sherlock as they stood behind his chair, "There's nowhere he could have got off?" he asked them.

"Not according to the maps," Sherlock shook his head, and John hummed thoughtfully, looking back to the computer. He frowned deeply, closing his eyes, trying to _think_ , "There's something…something… _something_ I'm missing, something staring me in the face," he turned back to face the wall, staring up at it as Amelia looked at him curiously. His phone beeped and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, checking it.

"Any idea who they are, this underground network?" John glanced up at Amelia, who shook her head, her eyes still fixed on Sherlock, wondering just what that message had been. John looked back to the computer, "Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones"

Sherlock smiled faintly, turning around to look directly at Amelia, "Our rat's just come out of his den," he commented, holding the phone up for her to see a picture of Moran walking along a road beside the Houses of Parliament, very close to where Amelia knew that Westminster Tube station was.

"Finally," Amelia broke into a broad smile, but it didn't last very long before a thought came to her, a unpleasant one, "But if he's come out of hiding, then that must mean…" she trailed off, biting her bottom lip worriedly.

His own smile faded, nodding to her, "Yes, I know".

John was blissfully unaware of what was going on, his eyes still glued to the computer screen, "Al-Qaeda?" he suggested, still trying to figure out what terrorist cell could be behind the plot, "The IRA have been getting restless again, maybe they're gonna make an appearance…"

"Yes," Sherlock said suddenly, staring back at the wall, his eyes lighting up, "Yes, yes, yes, _yes_!" he cried, making Amelia blink and John finally look over to him, "I've been an idiot, a blind idiot!"

"What?" John asked, confused.

"Sherlock?" Amelia frowned, watching him curiously, wondering what on Earth he had managed to figure out.

"Oh, that's good," he grinned, starting to pace the room, hardly seeming to even hear them, "That could be brilliant".

John sighed, looking to Amelia, "What is he going on about?" he sighed, knowing that if anyone could explain what the hell Sherlock was talking about, it would be her.

"No idea, John," she shook her head, just as confused as him. She turned back to eye Sherlock while he continued pacing, putting her hands on her hips, "Mind sharing, Holmes?"

"Mycroft's intelligence," Sherlock smirked, passing by her, "It's not nebulous at all. It's specific, incredibly specific".

"I still don't..." she began to shake her head, before she stopped, thinking about it. There was an underground terrorist…of course! How could they not have seen it before? It was literally staring them in the face the entire time, "Oh!" she gasped, her eyes widening as her head snapped back up to look at Sherlock, "Of course!"

He pointed at her, still smirking, "Exactly!"

John sighed loudly, fixing them both with a frustrated look, " _What_ do you mean?" he asked again, his tone firm.

He stopped pacing, turning back to face him, "Not an underground network, John," he told him, speaking fast, "It's an _underground_ network".

"Right," he nodded slowly, before pausing and shaking his, "What?" he frowned, looking between the detectives.

"Sometimes deception is so audacious, so outrageous, that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face".

John shook his head, looking blankly across to Amelia, "Amelia?"

Amelia quickly moved back over to him and around to the back of his chair. She didn't even pause as she leaned over his shoulder to the laptop, forcing John to lean away slightly from her. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sherlock's eyes narrow very slightly as he watched the two of them, before his features smothered out.

"Think about it, John," she said, completely oblivious to anything else going on around her, "When the agent said that it was an underground network, he literally meant an _underground network_. See?" she pressed 'play' on the video, replaying the footage of Moran at the Tube station as the man stepped onto the train as the doors opened, "At Westminster station, there's seven cars when Moran gets on," she pointed to the footage, Sherlock moving to stand beside her, looking over John's other shoulder. The footage changed to show the now very empty train arriving at the next station, the doors opening, "But by the time it's reached St James's Park, there's only _six_ cars".

"But that's…" John blinked, staring at the footage, seeing what she was trying to show him, "I…it's…it's impossible," he shook his head.

"Moran didn't disappear, the entire Tube compartment did," Sherlock pointed back to the computer, "The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage".

"And we already know for a fact that the driver was payed off for it," Amelia added, recalling what they learnt the day before that the driver of the train had _suddenly_ come into some money.

"Detached it where?" John frowned, looking back up to them, "You said there was nothing between those stations".

"Not on the maps," Sherlock nodded, "But once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth," he pointed back to the computer screen, "That carriage vanished, so it must be _somewhere_ ".

"But _why_ , though? Why detach it in the first place?"

He began pacing again, thinking hard, "It vanishes between St James's Park and Westminster," he began, speaking aloud, "Lord Moran vanishes. You are both kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks party…" he pointed back over to Amelia and John, when he stopped suddenly. He slowly turned back around to face them, "What's the date, today's date?"

"November the 5th…" Amelia trailed off, her eyes widening in realisation, "Oh!"

John blinked, catching on, "My God!"

"Parliament House," she went on, shocked that they hadn't seen it before now, "Its right smack bang between those two stations and, to top it all off, it just so happens to be Guy Fawkes Day".

Sherlock looked back across to the wall above the sofa, "Lord Moran, he's a peer of the realm," he remarked, figuring it out as he stepped over towards the wall, "Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new Anti-Terrorism Bill," he smiled slightly, "But he won't be there. Not tonight," he turned back around and looked at Amelia and John, "Not the fifth of November".

"'Remember, remember,'" John recited the old Guy Fawkes poem.

"'Gunpowder treason and plot,'" he nodded.

"'I know of no reason why Gunpowder Treason,'" Amelia finished off in a sing-song voice, "'Should ever be forgot'".

…

The kitchen dining table was covered with maps, each one detailing different areas of the underground train system. Sherlock, Amelia, and John searched frantically through the maps, tossing bits and pieces aside, trying to find some sort of side tunnel, while the laptop had been moved to sit on the edge of the table, facing them, as they Skyped with Shilcott as he shuffled through different maps on his side, his bobble hat sitting on top of his head.

"There's nothing down there, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson," Shilcott told them, shaking his head as he looked back to them through his own camera, "I told you. No sidings, no ghost stations".

"There _has_ to be," Sherlock muttered, grabbing the laptop and turning it around to face where John was sitting on a chair at the table, flicking through a book, "Check again".

"That train didn't just vanish," Amelia agreed, frowning as she lifted up a large map, scanning her eyes quickly over it.

John sighed, "Look, this whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff," he commented, frowning deeply as he ran his eyes down the page he was on, "Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand…"

"No, it's none of those," Sherlock shook his head, not looking up from the map he was carefully examining, the paper aged yellow, "We've accounted for those," he leaned closer to the map, "St Margaret's Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street…"

"Hang on, hang on!" Shilcott called suddenly, pulling the pom-pom that he had been chewing out of his mouth, drawing their attention quickly to him, "Sumatra Road. You mentioned Sumatra Road, Mr Holmes," he leaned over to something out of sight of the camera, sounding quite excited now, "There _is_ something. I knew it rang a bell. Where is it?" he muttered, searching for something for a moment before reappearing back into proper view of the camera, "There _was_ a station down there".

"What?" Amelia blinked, moving to peer over John's shoulder to see the computer screen better, frowning slightly. She might not have travelled on the Tube in a fair while, but she was pretty sure she had never heard of that station before, "How come it's not on any of the maps that we have?"

"'Cause it was closed before it ever opened," he informed them.

"What?" John asked, confused.

He picked up an open book from his lap and held it up to the camera, showing them an old map that they had never seen before, "They built the platform," he explained to them, "Even the staircases, but it all got tied up in the legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface," he grinned, pointing to the spot on the page.

"Making it the perfect place for a terrorist organisation," Amelia breathed in alarm, straightening. It really couldn't have been anymore perfect for a terrorist to hide away a bomb; it was actually quite startling to think about how easy it was for them to overlook such an important thing.

Sherlock stared off into the distance, "Its right underneath the Palace of Westminster," he said softly, looking at Amelia and John.

"And what's down there?" John questioned, glancing at the detectives, frowning, "A bomb?" Sherlock and Amelia didn't reply, but quickly turning on their heels and dashing off to collect their coats, scarfs, and, in Amelia's case, her handbag. He watched them go for a moment, before it finally hit him, "Oh…" he leaped up from his chair, hurrying off after them.

 _ **I apologise for this chapter being two weeks late, my Nan died and then I got sick, so I've been doing a fair bit of writing, but just not feeling up to posting anything. Also, this chapter would have been the last for this episode, but the next chapter is pretty big, so I decided to cut this part and post it in a different chapter, so the next chapter will be the final one before we move on to 'The Sign of Three,' which I am so looking forward to. That's probably my favourite episode of season three. Drunk Sherlock and John is the best thing, I love that part so much. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	7. Chapter 7 The Empty Hearse, Part 6

_**The Empty Hearse, Part 6**_

Night had fallen by the time that Sherlock, John, and Amelia climbed out of a cab and began to make their way quickly down the footpath near the House of Parliament, heading across to where a set of stairs where that led down into Westminster station. They reached the bottom of the stairs and walked across to the ticket barriers, slipping through and continuing on their way through the stations corridors, moving as fast as they could without drawing attention to themselves.

"So it's a bomb, then?" John said as they walked, glancing at Sherlock and Amelia beside him, Amelia slipping her phone back inside her handbag that hung over her shoulder, "A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb".

"You might want to lower your voice slightly," Amelia warned warily, casting a quick glance back over her shoulder to check that they hadn't caught anyone's attention. John wasn't exactly keeping his voice down. She looked back around Sherlock to him, "But yes, I imagine so".

"Right," he nodded, slipping his glove off and reaching into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

Sherlock blinked, looking slightly alarmed as he noticed him reaching for his phone, "What are you doing?" he frowned.

"Calling the police".

"What? No!"

"John," Amelia began calmly, placing a hand on Sherlock's arm, the three of them not slowing down in the slightest, "I know you mean well, but that's really not a wise idea right now," she said lightly, glancing over to him.

John stared at her, looking quite shocked that Amelia was the one telling him not to call the police when they were dealing with a bloody bomb, "This isn't a game," he told them sternly, "They need to evacuate Parliament".

"They'll get in the way," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small crowbar as they came to a stop outside a locked, grated maintenance door. Amelia carefully positioned herself so that she was blocking Sherlock from view of passing people as he began trying to force the door open.

"And illegal," John sighed, warily casting his eyes back down the hallway that they had just walked down.

"A bit," he admitted, just as the door popped open. He stepped through the door and held it open for Amelia and John to follow after him, shutting it behind John.

They set off down the dark maintenance tunnel, pulling torches out of their pockets to light their path as they went, reaching a set of steps that had a railing running along it. John fell back slightly and checked his phone.

Amelia didn't even need to look back to him, her attention focused on trying not to trip, "There's no point trying that now," she remarked lightly, already knowing what he was doing. Being a teacher did have its perks, she had been forced to develop eyes in the back of her head to make sure that the class was behaving, "You won't get a signal," she smirked slightly to herself.

John sighed loudly, slipping his phone back in his pocket, "Worth a shot".

They continued through the tunnel, walking along a narrow, grated walkway that had a metal railing running along the edge of a steep drop. They came across a steep metal ladder and made their way carefully down it, Sherlock going first, followed closely by Amelia, and then John. Finally, much to Amelia's relief, they reached the bottom and found themselves walking down a long tunnel that opened up onto the Sumatra Road platform. Sherlock immediately began to shine his light up and down the length of the track, searching for their missing train car, but there was nothing in sight.

"I don't understand," he frowned, confused.

"Well, there's a first," John muttered sarcastically, glancing at him.

"It _has_ to be here," Amelia insisted, moving until the toes of her boots were almost completely over the edge of the platform, trying to shine her torch further down each side of the track.

"There's nowhere else it could be," Sherlock agreed, casting one last look up and down the track, before sighing. He brought his hands up to his face and closed his eyes tightly, thinking hard, "Oh!" he suddenly shouted, his eyes snapping open and he dropped his hands, taking off down the left side of the platform. Amelia and John exchanged a quick look, hurrying after him.

"What?" John asked, feeling as if he was missing something, and judging from the rather blank expression on Amelia's face, he wasn't the only one. They continued down to the end of the platform, where Sherlock leaped off, landing in the middle of the tracks. He and Amelia came to a sharp stop, "Hang on," he called to him, just as Sherlock began to head off down the train tunnel, "Sherlock?"

"What?" he paused and turned back to look up at them.

"That's…isn't it live?"

He shrugged carelessly, "Perfectly safe, as long as we avoid touching the rails".

Amelia sighed, glancing back to John, "I just love his definition of 'perfectly safe,'" she commented with an eye roll.

"Of course, yeah," John said sarcastically, shaking his head, sharing her feelings, "Avoid the railings. Great!"

The brunet carefully shuffled closer to the edge of the platform, biting her lip nervously as she eyed just how far she would actually have to jump to avoid the railing, "Good thing I didn't wear heels today," she said lightly, trying hard to sound cheerful.

Sherlock sighed and took a step back, until he was level with her, "Amelia," he gave her a calming look, opening up his arms, "Jump".

"I swear, Sherlock, if you don't catch me…"

"I will, I promise. Now… _jump_ ".

She really didn't want to, after all, it would be so easy for her to slip or twist her ankle and lose her balance, but she also knew logically that she was more than capable of making the jump. She was more than tall enough to make the distance; she had her past experience of being a ballerina as a girl to help reassure her that she not only had enough balance to be able to make the jump safely, but also the ability. But still…the idea of what could go wrong so easily frightened her, making her completely doubt herself and right now, that type of doubt was not only costing them time, but would put herself in even more danger.

She forced herself to take a deep breath and shoved all of her fear and nervousness away as she meet Sherlock's eyes. He gave her a nod and she smiled faintly, knowing that he was telling the truth when he said he would catch her, and slipped off her handbag from her shoulder, passing it to John to hold onto for a moment. She didn't think twice, she just simply leaped down. She stumbled slightly upon the landing, though it was more to do with the fact that she had practically leaped straight into Sherlock's chest, forcing them both to grab each other to prevent either of them from falling.

"Oh, God," she gasped, rather horrified that she had almost made Sherlock fall backwards. She automatically grabbed his arm and his coat as, at the same time, he grabbed her in a partial hug, "Are you…"

"I'm fine, Amelia," Sherlock cut across her, his tone calm, frighteningly so for a man who could have easily have died. He let her go and she quickly released him, too, "I told you I would catch you".

"Thank you," she smiled sincerely, feeling her heart rate finally starting to drop, "I'm rather flattered, Holmes, risking your own life for me like that," she smirked teasingly, winking, "My hero".

John cleared his throat loudly, making them both blink and look back up to see him eyeing them carefully with a frown, "Do you two want some privacy…" he raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock instantly lost any of the warmth and even the slight upturn of his mouth, growing serious as he looked back up to John, "Don't be ridiculous, John," he said, making it sound as if he was being a complete idiot, "Come on," he turned on his heel and began to stride off down the tunnel, not even waiting for them.

Amelia smiled to herself for a moment, before forcing the smile off her face and turning to face John, reaching up towards him to pass her back her handbag. John passed it down to her and waited until she had moved away before jumping, landing in the middle of the tracks. She reached out and grasped his shoulder, helping to balance him before they set off after Sherlock's retreating back.

"What's going on between you two?" John asked quietly, narrowing his eyes at Amelia.

"Nothing," she shook her head, sounding completely innocent.

"You were flirting, with _Sherlock_ ".

"Just a little bit," she shrugged, seeing no point in denying it. She had been flirting, after all, "I've flirted with a lot of men, John, and done a lot more. I was once a rich, bratty, party girl who enjoyed nothing more than to go out and get drunk, and see how many men she could flirt with".

"But this is _Sherlock_ and you're not that bratty, _party girl_ anymore".

"Old habits die hard, I suppose".

John sighed, growing frustrated with her flippancy. He stopped, grabbing her arm, making her stop as she raised her eyebrows at him in the torchlight, "Amelia," he said sternly, "Are you and Sherlock…"

Amelia sighed loudly, "There's nothing between Sherlock and I," she told him firmly, knowing perfectly well that she was lying, or at least on her part, she was. Sherlock's part, well, she really couldn't be certain about his feelings for her yet, "I flirt with him because it's fun to tease him and, quite frankly, he's not the most unattractive man that I have ever come across," she shrugged, smiling faintly, "It's just fun, I don't mean anything by it, nor does he. We're just friends".

He frowned doubtfully, but still nodded as if accepting her response, "Well, I suppose you two have always liked to tease each other…" he stopped, blinking as he gave her a startled look, "Wait, did you just imply that Sherlock flirts with you…"

"John!" Sherlock suddenly called back to them, making them look down the track slightly too where they could see him standing, half shadowed, though they could both practically feel him burning holes in them both, "Amelia! Come on".

John and Amelia quickly hurried to catch up to him, falling into step just behind him as they continued down the tunnel.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" John asked, glancing back over his shoulder towards the other track running down the tunnel behind them.

"Sure," he replied simply.

"This is the direction of Parliament House," Amelia commented thoughtfully, doing a quick mental map in her head to figure out where they were. She might not be as good as making a mental map in her head as Sherlock obviously was, but after pouring over so many maps all day, she could probably draw the map with her eyes closed.

It wasn't much further up the tunnel before their torches light lit up the missing train car on the tracks ahead of them, just around a slight bend, "Ah," John smiled, catching sight of it, "Look at that".

They continued to make their way towards the car, when Sherlock noticed something above them, staring up at it, "John," he said, drawing their attention, "Amelia".

"Hmm?" he hummed as the three of them paused and looked up, only to find a massive, circular vent had been opened in the ceiling above their heads with several devices attached around the walls, connected together with long cables, "Demolition charges," he determined, shining his torch on the devices.

"Lovely," Amelia muttered warily, eyeing the charges carefully.

Sherlock looked back over to the train car and set off towards it again, Amelia and John following close behind him. John nervously took a deep breath and released it, trying to calm his racing heart as they approached the car, pausing to carefully check beneath it, while Sherlock shone his torch down the side it as Amelia tried to peer through the windows, but there was no sign of anyone. Carefully, Sherlock moved back to the driver's cab door and opened it, opening it slowly as he checked for any tripwires as he stepped into the cab. Amelia and John followed behind him as they made their way slowly into the car itself, shining their torches around as they moved along it, looking around at the seats lining the walls of the car. There was no sign of any bomb, at least, not on the surface.

John made his way down the end of the car, looking around for a moment before turning back to look down to where Amelia and Sherlock had paused in the middle of the car, Sherlock eyeing something on the wall, "It's empty," he commented, shaking his head, "There's nothing".

"Isn't there?" Sherlock said lightly, staring at the wall. Amelia and John looked over to him, shining their torches at the wall that he was eyeing, only to discover that there was a pair of red and black cables running, intertwined, along the wall and down into the back of one of the seats. He bent down and gently lifted the seat cushion up, shining his own torch carefully beneath it. He looked back up to John and Amelia, "This is the bomb".

"What?"

The colour drained from Amelia's face, her eyes widening in horror, "You have got to be joking," she breathed.

Sherlock turned back to the seat and lifted the cushion completely off it as he straightened, exposing a set of explosives that had been wired together in a small cavity within the seat itself, "It's not _carrying_ explosives," he said, moving along to the next seat, lifting it's cushion to reveal the same setup of explosives hidden there, too, "The whole compartment _is_ the bomb".

The three of them began going along the rest of the car, pulling up the cushions of each seat, only to find that every single one had explosives hidden within them. The entire car was rigged to the brim with explosives, _every single_ seat.

Amelia swallowed, sitting one of the cushions down on the floor as she had lifted it up, finding more explosives hidden beneath, "Well…" she began quietly, looking quite shaken as she glanced back at John and Sherlock, "I'll give Moran this; he sure does go all out, doesn't he?"

Sherlock quickly cast his eyes around the car, frowning thoughtfully as he took a step back over to the middle of the car, when he glanced back down at the floor where there was a slightly loose panel. He tapped it with the toe of his shoe, before quickly kneeling down beside it and slipping his gloves off, reaching down to lift the panel up with his fingertips, revealing a massive bomb beneath it with cables running right under the car. Amelia and John stared down at it, John breathing hard as Amelia pressed a hand against her mouth, closing her eyes tightly.

"We need bomb disposal," John said after a long moment, looking back across to Sherlock, his face almost as pale as Amelia's.

"We don't have time," Amelia shook her head, dropping her hand from her mouth and wrapping her arms tightly around herself. She felt sick, horribly sick.

He shifted nervously on the spot, glancing back down to the bomb in the middle of the floor, "So what do we do now?" he asked hurriedly, trying hard to stay calm.

Sherlock released a long sigh, "I have no idea," he admitted after a moment, finally looking back over to them.

He closed his eyes and blew out a breathe, before his eyes snapped open and he suddenly turned to Amelia, who blinked, startled, "Any bright ideas?" he said urgently to her.

"Me?" Amelia very nearly gaped at him, looking shocked that he would be asking _her_ , "I know nothing about bomb disposal…"

"You're twin brother was a terrorist who used to get his kicks by strapping bombs to people, you have to know _something_!"

"That was my _brother_ , John," she reminded him, shaking her head, "It wasn't like he and I used to pop out to have coffee every weekend and he would tell me all about his plans. In case you've forgotten, James and I had been estranged since we were still teenagers, I barely even knew him, let alone spent time chatting to him about bombs!"

John looked almost frantically back over to Sherlock, "Well, one of you has to think of something," he told them sternly, shifting nervously again on the spot.

Sherlock frowned at him, glancing at Amelia, who looked completely lost as to what to do. He turned back to John, "Why do you think either of us knows what to do?" he questioned, confused.

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson, you're as clever as it gets together".

Amelia stared at him, her eyes widening, "That hardly means that we can defuse a bloody bomb!" she exclaimed, "Just because we're clever doesn't mean that we know how to fly a plane…"

"Well…" Sherlock said slowly, dragging the word out slightly.

"Shut up, Holmes!" she shot him a quick glare, pointing a stern finger at him, "I'm trying to prove a point here".

He sighed, shaking his head as he looked back to John, "What about you?" he waved a hand down at the bomb sitting in the floor between them.

"I wasn't in bomb disposal," John said in a forced voice, struggling to maintain his composer, "I was a bloody doctor".

"And a soldier," he pointed his torch at his face, rolling his eyes, "As you keep reminding us all".

John looked back down at the bomb, eyeing the timer that was frozen at 2:30 minutes on top of the device, "Can't…can't we rip the timer off, or something?" he suggested, slightly breathlessly.

"That would set it off," he replied, shaking his head.

"He's right," Amelia agreed, bitting her bottom lip worriedly as she eyed the bomb, "It's a built in failsafe. Any attempts to tamper with it will only set it off".

"You see?" John's head suddenly snapped back up, looking between the two of them, "You _know_ things, you both do".

Sherlock sighed heavily and turned away, just when all the lights in the car suddenly flickered and powered on, lighting up the entire car as they stared around in shock and alarm.

"Oh my God…" Amelia gasped, jumping back slightly as she looked down at the bomb to see the clock's timer start up, ticking down. She frantically looked around, desperately trying to think of how they could get out of this one as John groaned loudly.

"Er…" Sherlock quickly turned around, looking quite panicked.

"My God!" John shouted up at the ceiling, breathing fast as Sherlock began pacing, frantically trying to think, "Why didn't you call the police?" he breathed angrily, glaring over at Sherlock.

"Please, just…" he began, still pacing as he ran a hand down his face.

"Why do you never call the police?" he snapped furiously.

"John ,please!" Amelia cried, unable to stand the shouting any longer, not when they quite possibly only had a few minutes left to live. She turned on him, grabbing his arms, forcing him to look at her, "Enough shouting and fighting, please," she half pleaded, her voice growing stronger, "I refuse to die while we are fighting!"

John blinked, actually looking quite startled by the fierce and determined look in her eyes; even Sherlock was looking over to them with a mildly surprised expression. He took a deep breath and turned back to the brunet, swallowing hard as he meet her eyes, "Sorry," he muttered, and she nodded, releasing him as she went back hugging her middle. He glanced back down at the bomb to find the timer now reading that they only had 2:15 minutes left, his eyes travelling back over to land on Sherlock, "So you can't switch the bomb off?" he stared at him, struggling to keep his tone in check, for Amelia's sake, "You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police," he turned away briefly, unable to look at him any longer.

Sherlock looked over to them, his face pale, "Go, both of you," he urged them, his voice soft, almost pleading. He pointed back over to the diver's cab, not taking his eyes of Amelia or John, "Go now".

Amelia frowned at him, shocked by the mere suggestion, "We can't just leave you!"

"Amelia…" he began.

"No," she cut across him, her expression hard, "Don't be so idiotic, Holmes. Even if we could leave and get to safety before this went off…" she waved her hand around at the car, shaking her head, "We…I couldn't possibly just let you _stay_ here to die, that's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth. We stick together. _Partners_ , remember?" she raised her eyebrows at him, swallowing hard, "Besides, unless we do stay and, at the very least, try to do everything that we possibly can to defuse this bomb, then we won't be the only ones to die. Our lives aren't the only ones at risk here, far from it".

The timer ticked down to 1:57 minutes as Sherlock stared back at Amelia, looking as if he had never seen her before.

"Mind Palace," John said suddenly, pointing at Sherlock.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed, his head snapping over to him.

"Use your Mind Palace".

"I don't follow," Amelia frowned, looking confused as she glanced between the two of them. What use would that be right now?

"How will that help?" Sherlock asked, seeming just as confused.

"You've salted away every fact under the sun!"

"Oh, and you think I've got, 'How To Defuse A Bomb,' tucked away in there somewhere?" he exclaimed, gesturing widely.

"Yes!"

Amelia looked quickly to Sherlock, suddenly feeling the tiniest bit of hope, "It's worth a shot," she commented quickly.

Sherlock paused for a moment, looking as if he was thinking very carefully as he glanced back to John, "Maybe," he nodded, and closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against the side of his head.

" _Think_ ," John encouraged him, his voice growing softer, "Think. Please, think".

"Come on, Sherlock," Amelia breathed, clutching her coat tighter in her hands, desperately hoping, "Come on".

" _Think_!"

Sherlock groaned loudly and suddenly opened his eyes, breathing heavily as he dropped his hands from his head, looking back across to Amelia and John, his expression apologetic.

Amelia's eyes widened, actually taking a small step back as it hit her, the truth of it all came crashing down onto her, "You don't know, do you?" she said quietly, her voice strained. He looked at her for a moment, his mouth thinning into a tight line as he nodded, confirming her worst fear.

"Oh my God!" John gasped, turning away, shaking his head. Sherlock whipped off his scarf and doubled over the bomb for a moment, holding his head in his hands, before he dropped down onto his knees by the edge of the bomb. John walked further down the car as Amelia turned away, her head ducked as she struggled to even know how to react right now with so many emotions swirling around inside her, "This is it," he murmured, realisation hitting him.

"Um, er…" Sherlock frantically reached into the bomb, uselessly searching around it for anything, anything at all that might be able to stop it.

Amelia sank down onto the floor on the other side of the bomb, her expression completely blank. Dying wasn't a feign concept to her, she had almost been killed or faced death so many times now that, or though she was far from used to it, it had given her a false sense of security that no matter what, she would end up surviving. She hadn't even reached her thirty fifth birthday yet, her mother had been thirty six when she had died, so was that going to be the same fate for her, to die far too soon and before her time? She had thought that with her brother gone, she would be safe to live a long, happy life, free to do whatever she wanted, but had she been mistaken? Was this it, her death? She didn't feel afraid, shockingly enough, she simply felt numb, a product of the shock that she was still experiencing, she knew and that in its self was a small relief. She didn't want her last moments to be spent scared, she had spent too much of her life feeling that way.

John stared off into space, his back still turned on them, "Oh my God," he whispered breathlessly.

"Turn that off," Sherlock mumbled, still desperately fiddling around by the bomb, "Oh God! Er, um, er…" he ducked his head, the frantic noise of him moving around the bomb growing silent as Amelia and John slowly looked back over to him, "I'm sorry," he said suddenly, lifting his head to look at them.

John looked away from him, screwing his eyes up as Amelia frowned vaguely, looking at Sherlock curiously. Something seemed…wrong, but she just couldn't figure out what. She was to emotionally compromised to figure it out, but every instinct told her that something was wrong, something about Sherlock's behaviour had shifted, somehow.

"What?" John looked back to him, opening his eyes.

Sherlock shrugged very slightly, staring back to them as tears began to fill his eyes, "I can't…I can't do it," he said softly, his voice chocked as he shook his head, "I don't know how," he slowly straightened, his eyes moving to rest on John, "Forgive me and Amelia?"

"Sherlock…" Amelia trailed off, blinking at him. Oh, if only she could make her brain work so that she could understand why she felt like she was missing something important. Why on Earth would he be asking for forgiveness for her? For him, she could understand, unless it wasn't actually about the bomb…hang on, did that mean…her eyes widened as it finally clicked, her head snapping down to the bomb. Oh, that complete and utter bastard! If she hadn't worked it out, she would have slapped him so hard that he wouldn't be able to talk for two days.

"What?" John hissed furiously, glaring at him.

"Please, John, forgive us…" he pleaded, ducking his head and bringing his hands together, almost as if he was praying, "For all the hurt that we caused you".

"No, no, no, no, no, no," he shook his finger at him, "This is a trick".

"No".

"Another one of your bloody tricks!"

Amelia licked her lips, looking back up to John, "He's telling the truth," she told him, making him pause and look back to her, "Please, just forgive us. This might very well be the very last chance that we ever get; we shouldn't die with this hanging over the three of us".

John swallowed, looking away from them both for a moment, before turning back to them with his expression tight, "You're just trying to make me say something nice".

Sherlock laughed very slightly, shaking his head, "Not this time".

"It's just to make you and Amelia look good even though you both behaved like…" he trailed off, grimacing as he fought back tears, scrunching up his face. He grabbed a nearby railing, grasping it tightly as he struggled to get control of his emotions before, finally, he lifted his head again, "I wanted you both not to be dead," he forced out in a low, furious voice.

Amelia lowered her head, feeling tears prickling her eyes as Sherlock pulled himself up off the floor, moving to sit on the edge of one of the seats. He looked back over to John, "Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for," he said to him, and John sighed, "If we hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing here and…" John looked away from him, shaking his head as he continued, "You'd still have a future…with Mary".

"Yeah, I know," he cut him off, pointing back to him, before grimacing. Sherlock pressed his clenched fist against his mouth, as if holding back a sob, "Look," he turned back to them, his voice tight, "I find it difficult," Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes tightly as Amelia wiped tears away, her mouth closed tightly, not trusting herself to speak, "I find it difficult, this sort of stuff".

"I know," Sherlock said softly, looking back up to him.

He took a deep breath, swallowing hard before he straightened, looking directly at them both, "You two were the best and the wisest man and woman…" he paused, sniffing tearfully, "That I have ever known," he lowered his head again, releasing a hard breath as Sherlock and Amelia both looked up at him, their eyes filled with tears as tears trickled down Amelia's face, badly smudging her makeup. After a moment, he looked back up to them, "Yes, of course I forgive you".

"Thank you, John," Amelia breathed, truly grateful and relived.

He nodded to her and took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for the bomb to go off…

…

 _Sherlock and Amelia sat side by side on an old brown sofa in Anderson's small, rather shabby flat, staring directly back at the video camera that was set up before them. Anderson was sitting behind the camera, staring back at them with wide, slightly manic glint in his eyes. He had been rather shocked to discover the two detectives standing on his doorstep for no apparent reason, but what had really made him pause was when they both agreed to let him question them while he recorded the interview._

 _After the detectives deaths, he had, well, gone completely off the rails and had become completely obsessed with trying to find proof that Sherlock and Amelia were still alive, going so far as to form his own group of like minded people, calling it 'The Empty Hearse'. Getting the chance to question the detectives about how they had managed it all and where they had been the last two years had been his biggest dream, but he had never quite imagined that it would actually happen. The rest of his group were going to be so amazed, he couldn't wait for them to see._

 _Amelia settled comfortably into the sofa, her hands clasped together in her lap and her legs crossed, "What you must first understand is that there was vital events that occurred well before our apparent deaths," she began, her voice calm and steady, her eyes looking directly down the camera lens, "James's criminal organisation was huge, it stretched out across the entire world"._

" _Its roots were everywhere, like a cancer," Sherlock agreed, his tone just as steady as hers, "So we came up with a plan"._

" _James had already made his first mistake," she continued, the corner of her mouth lifting very slightly, "Two days before Christmas of 2010, my brother payed me a little visit. I won't go in to detail of what we spoke of, but he did tell me that in the coming months I would receive a text message that I would follow exactly to the letter, otherwise he would kill four of my dearest friends, same would go if I breathed a word of any of it to anyone," she broke into a smile, "And that, in its self, would prove to be one of his biggest mistakes because threatening me is one thing, but my friends?" her smile grew darker and her tone took on a colder edge, "That crossed a line and I did the one thing he never expected me to do. I told Sherlock," she glanced across to Sherlock beside her, before returning her attention back onto the camera, "I told him everything, every last detail and, together, we began to form a plan in secret"._

" _Mycroft began feeding information about me," Sherlock said, his eyes fixed on the camera, "Moriarty, in turn, gave us hints, just hints, as to the extent of his web. We let him go, because it was important to make him believe that he had the upper hand," he glanced across to Amelia, "And then we sat back and watched Moriarty destroy my reputation, bit by bit, and make up the false story of Rachel Brook," he turned back to the camera, "I had to make him believe he'd beaten me, utterly defeated me and had complete control over Amelia, and then he'd show his hand"._

" _He would never have imagined for a second that I would have defied him, which is why it was just so simple to fool him into believing that I was keeping my mouth shut, but all the while we were busy. The months leading up to our apparent deaths, I was kept under constant surveillance my Mycroft's people and so, when the day did arrive when I received the message, we were ready for it. I did exactly as it said, made up an excuse to John Watson and simply walked away, but Mycroft's people couldn't intervene, not yet, not until the very last second. I had to let my brother believe that he had me and so, I let him take me. I might not have been able to determine what his end game was, but I had figured out months before that he would kill me and that he would do it by drowning. That's how his brain worked, he would have found it funny, but it was also another mistake on his part. It gave us exactly what we needed in order to save me, and so, while I listened to him ramble on about everything that he planned, I was rest assured with the knowledge that I was safe. Eventually the time came and I was sedated, only to wake to find myself in a locked car that was steadily sinking into a lake and with water rising, but still Mycroft's people couldn't intervene. They first had to get around James's people, but that had cost time and by the time I was pulled from the car at the bottom of the lake, I was technically dead. Thankfully, I was revived and no damage was done, but it was a near miss"._

" _While this was occurring," Sherlock went on, "I was having my own meeting with Moriarty. There were thirteen likely scenarios once we were up on that roof. Each one of them rigorously worked out and given a code name. It wasn't just my reputation that Moriarty needed to bury, I had to die, just like Amelia," he frowned slightly, "But the one thing that neither Amelia or I had anticipated was just how far Moriarty was prepared to go," he glanced at Amelia._

 _She was visibly grimacing, feeling a pang of grief for her brother. Regardless of everything that James had done, she still grieved for him, even now, he had been her twin and she doubted if she would ever stop grieving for him. He had been a part of her and even now, despite how estranged they had been and lack of any real relationship between them, it still felt like there was tiny part of her that was missing. He reached over and placed a hand on her knee, making her blink and look up to him in surprise, before giving him a small, grateful nod._

 _He nodded back to her and looked back to the camera, not removing his hand, "I suppose that it was obvious, given our first meeting at the swimming pool," he continued on with his side of the story, acting as if nothing had happened, "His death wish," he lightly pattered her knee as she closed her eyes briefly, ducking her head, his eyes still glued to the camera, "I knew I didn't have long. I contacted my brother, set the wheels in motion for the Lazarus plan to be initiated. And then everyone got to work. It was vital that John saw only what I needed him to see, that he stayed just where I put him, that way, his view was blocked by the ambulance station, his attention focused entirely on me on the roof. While he was distracted, my helpers moved an airbag into position in exactly the spot that I would fall, but I also needed to buy time in order for the airbag to be inflated. So…I spoke to him, until the moment was right. I needed to hit the airbag, which I did. Speed was paramount. The airbag needed to be got out of the way just as John cleared the station. But we needed him to see a body. That's where Molly came in. Like figures on a whether clock, we went one way, John went the other. Then our well timed cyclist…put John briefly out of action, giving me time to switch places with the corpse on the pavement," he shrugged, "The rest was just window dressing. And one final touch, a squash ball under the armpit. Apply enough pressure and it momentarily cuts off the pulse"._

 _Amelia looked back to the camera, the corner of her mouth raising as Anderson stared at them, looking rather stunned, "We had the entire thing planned out," she remarked, shrugging, "Every single possibility had been considered and allowed for, nothing could possibly have gone wrong"._

" _It worked…" he smiled faintly, exchanging a look with Amelia, "Perfectly"._

 _Anderson frowned slightly, "Molly?" he said, blinking, "Molly Hopper, she was in on it?"_

" _Well, you were bound to get a bit of your theories right," Amelia said lightly, the corner of her mouth twitching. Anderson gave her a startled look, making her smile widen, "Yes, of course I read them on your little website. I must say, there certainly was quite a few about me and Sherlock being secretly engaging or married," she laughed, shaking her head, glancing at Sherlock, "I read at least five of them on the cab ride over here"._

 _Sherlock shook his head at her, though he did look slightly amused himself as he turned back to Anderson, who was looking a little pink, "Yes, Molly played a key role," he told him, getting back on track, "You remember the little girl who was abducted by Moriarty?" he asked him, raising an eyebrow as Anderson looked slightly guilty, "You assumed she reacted that way because I was her kidnapper. But I deduced Moriarty must have found someone who looked very like me to plant suspicion, and that that man, whoever he was, had to be got out of the way as soon as his usefulness ended. That meant there was a corpse in a morgue somewhere that looked just like me"._

 _Anderson nodded slowly, "Clever"._

" _Molly found the body, faked the records, and I provided the other coat. I've got lots of coats"._

" _He really does," Amelia agreed, glancing at him, "One less was hardly going to make most people suspicious, if they looked"._

" _And what about the sniper aimed at John?" Anderson questioned, frowning slightly._

" _Well done," she smiled slightly; surprised he remembered that little detail amongst the rest of the story. Perhaps she really hadn't given him enough credit, "Mycroft's people stepped in before he could take the shot. He was…invited to reconsider"._

 _He reached up to rub his forehead, looking over to Sherlock, "And your homeless network?"_

" _As I explained, the whole street was closed off…" Sherlock reminded him, smiling slightly, "Like a scene from a play," he raised his eyebrows expectantly as Anderson simply stared back at them, looking thoughtful, "Neat, don't you think?"_

 _He looked away from them, "Hmm…" he hummed, making Amelia frown slightly in confusion._

" _What?" he asked, looking just as confused by his reaction as the brunet did._

 _He still didn't look at them, shrugging his shoulders, "Not the way I'd have done it," he commented, shaking his head._

" _Seriously?" Amelia stared at him, unable to quite believe what she was hearing. Hadn't he practically begged them to tell him how they had done it and now he was just going to criticise their method? She would have loved to see him try and plan it out; she highly doubted that he could have done it any better._

 _Sherlock narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest, "Oh, really?" he eyed him._

" _No, I'm not saying it's not cleaver, but…"_

" _What?"_

 _He shrugged again and frowned, waving a hand around in front of him, searching for the right words, "Bit…disappointed," he said after a moment, finally looking back to them._

 _Sherlock sighed heavily, closing his eyes briefly, "Everyone's a critic," he muttered._

" _You just can't make some people happy," Amelia shook her head, rolling her eyes. Honestly Anderson really was one of the most impossible people, even more so, perhaps, then Sherlock. You tell him exactly what he wants to hear and it's not good enough. You just can't win sometimes. She sighed, focusing back on to Anderson, growing serious, "But we didn't just come here to tell you our story," she said, her tone growing firmer._

 _Anderson blinked; looking almost worried now, "No?"_

" _No," Sherlock agreed, fixing him with a stern look, "I think you know why we're here, Phillip"._

"' _How I Did It,' by Jack the Ripper?" Amelia raised her eyebrows, "Ring any bells?"_

 _His eyes widened and he opened and closed his mouth for a moment, before ducking his head, nervously toying with the cuff of his jumper, "Didn't you think it was intriguing?" he looked back up to them hopefully._

" _Lurid," Sherlock corrected, uncrossing his legs and standing. Amelia nodded in agreement, "A case so sensational, you hoped Amelia and I would be interested," he put his hands in his pockets, casually walking over towards his chair, "But you overdid it, Phillip, you and your little 'fan club," he sneered at the last two words, strolling around his chair._

" _I just couldn't live with myself, knowing I'd driven you, Sherlock, to…" he trailed off, unable to finish that sentence._

" _But you didn't. You were always right, neither Amelia nor I were dead"._

" _Quite frankly, I'm impressed," Amelia admitted, rising from the sofa and brushing her skirt down, fixing Anderson with a small smile. She was surprised; she would never have imagined that it would be Anderson that would be the one to figure out that they were still alive, though she did wish that he might not have let it completely rule his life for the past two years. The poor man might be more bearable to be around now, but losing his wife and very nearly his career was something that she did feel quite sorry about._

" _No," Anderson looked quickly back up to the detectives, his expression brightening as he looked between them, "No, and everything's okay now, isn't it?" he focused on Sherlock._

" _Yeah," Sherlock said, smiling as he continued to circle his chair. Anderson laughed slightly, looking deeply relieved as Amelia's smile became quite fixed. He stopped suddenly, looking back to him as his smile slipped off his face, "Of course you've wasted police time," he said lightly, making Anderson blink, "Perverted the course of justice, risked distracting me and Amelia from a massive terrorist assault that could have both destroyed Parliament and caused the death of hundreds of people"._

" _Oh, God!" he gasped tearfully, breaking down, "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Sherlock," he reached out and grabbed Sherlock's coat, pulling him closer as he began weeping into the fabric, "I'm so sorry," he cried as Sherlock could only stand there, staring down at him in complete confusion. He shot Amelia a desperate look and she hurriedly stifled the laugh that threatened to escape her, moving to awkwardly pat Anderson's back._

" _There, there," she said awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do. She really didn't blame Sherlock for looking so helpless, she was feeling a bit that way herself and she wasn't even being sobbed on, "I'm sure it won't be that bad, I mean, Lestrade doesn't know who was behind the mock crime scene, there's no reason for him to know that it was you…" she trailed off as, much to her shock, Anderson suddenly released Sherlock and began sobbing into her coat, clutching onto the front of her lapels, very nearly pulling her down._

" _Thank you!" he sobbed gratefully, "Thank you, I don't deserve…hang on," the tears stopped almost as fast as they had started and he lifted his head from her coat, frowning. His face was bright red and slightly wet, but he suddenly appeared to be very focused as he looked past her to where he had an entire wall covered in paper and notes. He let go of her and stood while the detectives could only stare at him, completely bemused as they watched him step over to the wall, "That doesn't make sense," he frowned up at the wall as, behind him, Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. Amelia pulled her coat straight, shaking her head in mild exasperation, "How could you be sure John would stand on that exact spot?" he went on, "I mean, what if he'd moved?" slowly and quietly, Sherlock and Amelia crossed the room and left, completely unnoticed by Anderson, "Hey, how did you do it all so quickly? What if the bike hadn't hit him?" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "And anyway, why are you telling me all this?" he laughed slightly, shaking his head, "If you'd pulled that off, I'm the last person either of you would tell the truth…" he turned around, only to find the room empty._

 _Outside, on the street, Amelia and Sherlock stepped out onto the pavement, just as the sound of hysterical, manic laughing sounded down the hallway to them, coming from Anderson's flat._

" _Oh, dear," Amelia sighed, glancing at Sherlock, "I think we broke Anderson"._

" _Let's go and get some cake," Sherlock said randomly, seeming completely unconcerned as he adjusted his scarf around his neck. He smirked very slightly at her, "I'm positively starving"._

 _She smiled, unable to help her, shaking her head at him, "You really are wicked, Holmes"._

….

John waited with his eyes tightly shut, his heart racing frantically in his chest as he stood in that train car and waited for it to explode, for them to all die. He braced himself on a nearby railing, taking a deep breath, when…laughter echoed throughout the car. His eyes snapped open, only to find Sherlock staring up at him as he giggled. Amelia was biting her lip, but when her eyes meet his, she suddenly bust into guilty sniggers that she desperately tried to stop by covering her mouth, but it really wasn't helping. He stared at them both, confused as he took a step towards them, only for his eyes to fall onto the timer on the bomb. It wasn't moving, just simply flickering between 1:28 and 1:29.

"You…" he began, unable to believe it as he turned away from them as they laughed.

Sherlock stood, giggling to himself, near hysterically, "Oh, your face!" he pointed at him, gleeful tears running down his face.

"…utter…"

"Priceless!" Amelia shook her head, grabbing the edge of a nearby seat, almost doubled over on the floor as she laughed. She did feel awful that they had tricked John; she really did, but his face! How could she possibly not laugh? She did have a sense of humour, after all, though she did half expect him to either faint or lunge at them again, "Oh, I'm sorry, John, but…" she trailed off, giggles overcoming her again.

"Your face!" Sherlock cheered, still laughing.

"You…"

He grinned broadly as Amelia pulled herself onto her feet, smiling widely, if a little guiltily, as she tried wiping the makeup off from beneath her eyes, "I totally had you," he smirked smugly at John.

"You cock!" John shouted furiously, glaring at him, "And you!" he suddenly turned on Amelia, "You…."

"Let's not call each other names, now," Amelia said with a guilty smile, holding up her hands in surrender.

"You went _along_ with it! Oh, I knew it! I knew it! You f…"

"Oh, those things you said, such sweet things!" Sherlock continued, still grinning, speaking over the top of him, "I never knew you cared".

He glared at them both, pointing a warning finger, "I _will_ kill you both if you ever breathe a word of this…"

He held up two of his fingers, shaking his head, still smiling, "Scout's honour," he assured him.

"Not a word," Amelia promised, forcing herself not to smile or laugh.

"…to _anyone_. You _knew_!"

"Well, not exactly," Amelia shook her head, biting her lip, watching as Sherlock squatted back down beside the bomb.

"You knew how to turn it off!"

"There's an off switch," Sherlock cut in calmly, looking back up to him.

John blinked, confused, "What?" he moved closer to the bomb, frowning.

"You have to have an off switch with a bomb," Amelia smiled very slightly, kneeling down by the bomb and pointing to where a small toggle switch was on the side of the bomb, just slightly out of sight. Unless you knew where to look, you would have found it tricky to find it, "It's a failsafe, John, otherwise terrorists can get into a bit of trouble".

"So why did you make me go through all that?" he demanded, his voice tight, trying hard to maintain his composer.

"I didn't lie altogether," Sherlock told him very seriously, his eyes flickering over to Amelia briefly, "I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off," he laughed, turning away to wipe his eyes.

"Oh, look who finally joined the party," Amelia remarked, smiling broadly as she caught sight of something moving towards them down the train tunnel through the open driver's cabin door.

John followed her gaze to see the beams of flashlights moving along the tunnel towards them, the distant noise of walkie-talkie radios echoing through the tunnel. He shook his head, pointing at the lights, "And you _did_ call the police," he huffed, annoyed.

"Technically, I did that," Amelia informed him, earning a frown from John, "I called them before we came down here, just to be safe," she sighed slightly, glancing at Sherlock, "I didn't know what he was doing at first, just to be clear, with the whole getting you to forgive us".

He looked away from them, closing his eyes briefly, "I'm definitely going to kill you".

"Oh, please," Sherlock slowly smirked, glancing down his front, "Killing us, that's so two years ago".

The three of them looked at each other and slowly laughed, though John still hadn't quite forgiven them yet. He sighed and shook his head, following them as they began to head for the cabin door.

….

The next day Amelia couldn't help but sigh slightly as she stood by the living room windows of Baker Street, carefully peering down to the street were several reporters and photographers were waiting outside on the pavement, some even milling about in the road. They were waiting for them to make their first proper and official debut, and to hear about them preventing a terrorist attack from very nearly destroying one of the most important buildings in the city. Amelia really wasn't looking forward to it and, judging from the small frown on John's face as he stood beside her, neither was he. In fact, the only real reason for why she had dragged herself out of bed that morning…well, aside from the fact that she was still sharing Sherlock's bed, was because they were having a small welcome back party. Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, and Mary had already arrived, leaving just Molly and her finance to turn up.

John shook his head slightly at the sight of the reporters below, before glancing at Amelia, who sighed slightly, "I'll get him," she said, knowing already what he was about to ask.

Amelia smiled at Mrs Hudson as she began to make her way through the living room, the older woman happily chatting away with Mary, the older woman sitting on a chair while Mary leaned towards her from her seat on the sofa. She made her way through the kitchen and down the short hallway to Sherlock's open bedroom door, finding the man himself smiling gleefully with his phone pressed against his ear. She lightly knocked her knuckles against the doorframe, drawing his attention to her.

"Holmes, we have to go down soon," she told him, sighing heavily, "I'm afraid we don't have much of a choice, the press are going to be beating down the door unless we tell them the story soon".

Sherlock released a long, suffering sigh and nodded, switching his phone off, "In a minute".

"How's Mycroft handling 'Les Miserable?"

He smirked, giving her a pointed look that made her laugh. That look pretty much said it all. Together they made their way down the hallway and through to the living room, Sherlock snagging a bottle of champagne as they made their way through the kitchen. He uncorked it as they stepped into the living room, making his way over to pour it into a glass that was sitting on the coffee table.

"Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary," Mrs Hudson smiled happily at Mary, looking quite excited, "Have you set a date?"

"Er, well, we thought May," Mary replied as Sherlock passed Amelia a glass of champagne, which she gratefully took and sipped.

"Oh!" she exclaimed brightly, nodding, "Spring wedding!"

"Lovely time of year, Mary," Amelia smiled at her, lowering her glass as Sherlock began pouring another glass.

"Yeah," Mary nodded, before pausing, "Well, once we've actually _got_ engaged," she glanced over to John, who was pulling his jacket on, preparing to head down stairs.

"Yeah," John agreed.

"We were interrupted last time," she looked pointedly to Sherlock and Amelia, though she didn't seem to be overly annoyed or upset about it.

"Yeah".

"Sorry about that…again," Amelia winced slightly, giving them a guilty look as Sherlock simply smiled at Mary. She sighed and threw Sherlock a look, shaking her head, "Someone was _very_ adamant that it just simply had to be _that_ night".

"Well, I can't wait," Lestrade cut in from where he was sitting in John's old chair. He smiled and lifted his glass in a toast, making John look back to him with a broad smile.

Sherlock didn't even bother to take a sip of his drink, simply sitting it back down on the coffee table and making his way across the room to look out the far window, turning his back on them all. Amelia shook her head and carefully perched herself on the edge of the coffee table, sitting her glass down beside her.

"You will be there, Sherlock?" Mary said to him, eyeing him carefully. Amelia had already made it very clear that she couldn't have been happier for them; she had even offered to pay for them to have a proper honeymoon, something that John apparently hadn't been surprised that she had offered them. According to John, that was something very like Amelia to do.

"Weddings…" Sherlock made a face, "Not really my thing," he glanced back over to them and playfully winked at Mary, making her and Amelia smile.

Amelia leaned over towards Mary, "He's such a softie and he doesn't even see it," she commented quietly to her, rolling her eyes. If spending so much time around Sherlock had taught her anything, it was that there was a lot more to him then the cold, unfeeling persona that he liked to show to people. He could be sweet and gentle, even tender, and she just wished that he would show that side of himself more often. That was the real Sherlock that she saw when she looked at him, perhaps that's why she began developing feelings for him in the first place.

"Oh, believe me," Mary smiled softly, giving her a knowing look, "I see it".

The living room door opened, drawing their attention over to it.

"Hello, everyone," Molly called cheerfully as she stepped into the room.

"Molly!" Amelia smiled broadly, lifting her glass to her in greeting.

"Hey, Molly," John greeted her, moving back slightly from the doorway to let her move further into the room.

"This is Tom," Molly said, just as a young man moved into view of the doorway. Amelia and John both blinked, staring at the man in shock, before meeting each other's eyes. Amelia could only shake her head, just as stunned as John. She had never seen a picture of Tom; she was just as stunned as him. Molly didn't seem to notice anything, smiling brightly as she looked around the room, "Tom, this is everyone".

"Hi," Tom gave them a little wave, smiling a little awkwardly as everyone looked at him.

"Amazing…" Amelia breathed to herself, unable to take her eyes of the man. He and Sherlock could have easily have been brothers, if not twins. Tom was tall and slime, with a similar build as Sherlock, his curly brown hair was slightly shorter then Holmes's, but he still had prominent cheekbones and pale blue eyes. They even dressed alike with Tom wearing a dark coat, his collar turned up, and a grey and black scarf tied in the same manner as Sherlock's around his neck. She supposed she ought to have known that Molly would end up falling for a near clone of Sherlock, but even still, what was the chances of her actually finding a guy like this? She couldn't decided whether or not she ought to feel impressed or a little concerned that Molly was taking her feelings for Sherlock a tad far.

Lestrade looked at Tom and blinked slightly, "Hi," he said awkwardly, seeming to notice the similarities, too.

"It's really nice to meet you all," Tom told them happily, before turning to John, who was closest, "Hi".

"Wow," John tried to give himself a shake, "Yeah, hi. I'm John," he introduced himself, holding out his hand and shaking Tom's, still staring at him with a funny expression on his face, "Good to meet you".

Amelia stood and fixed a smile onto her face, moving to shake Tom's hand, too, "Hello, lovely to meet you," she began; trying hard to focus on what _was_ different about the man's face from Sherlock's. It was starting to frighten her how alike they were, "I'm…"

"Amelia Wilson!" he cut her off, looking excited as he shook her hand excitedly, "Molly's told me all about you. I should have known".

"And you, it's like looking at…" she quickly cut herself off, realising that her mouth had run away with her for a moment. John was biting his lip and giving her a warning look, so she hurriedly smiled again and released Tom's hand, "It's just wonderful to finally meet you," she went on quickly, glancing at Molly, but she didn't seem to have noticed anything, nor had Tom, thankfully, "Molly," she glanced at her, "You never said how handsome he is".

Thankfully, for Amelia, Sherlock choose that moment to finally turnaround from the window, "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," John nodded, casting Tom another quick look.

"Oh, _please_ ," Amelia muttered, closing her eyes briefly. She couldn't believe that she had almost slipped up like that; it surely had to be the shock kicking in. She never usually had an issue keeping her mouth shut about that sort of thing.

Sherlock began to make his way over to them, smiling slightly at Lestrade as he passed by him, but the smile completely slipped off his face and he came to a sharp stop when he caught sight of Tom, his eyes widening in shock. Slowly, his eyes travelled up and down the other man, while Tom seemed quite taken aback himself.

Lestrade stood and picked up the champagne bottle from the coffee table, looking over to Molly and Tom, "Champagne?" he asked them, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the room.

"Yes," Molly nodded, still seeming to be completely oblivious as to what was going on right beside her.

Sherlock's mouth dropped open very slightly, staring at Tom, before glancing at Amelia and John. They gave him a small smile, Amelia giving him a pointed look and nodding very slightly back to Tom. He closed his mouth and slowly reached out to shake hands with Tom, before glancing quickly at Molly as he walked between the couple and headed out the door. Tom watched him go.

"Thanks," Molly said as Lestrade handed her a glass of champagne.

John and Amelia began to follow after him out the door, but John paused and eyed Tom for a moment before Amelia sighed, lightly nudging him forward before anyone could notice. They continued on their way out onto the landing, Amelia shutting the door behind her. She paused and gave herself a shake, before turning to see Sherlock looping his scarf around his neck.

"Did you, er…?" John trailed off, looking to Sherlock as he pointed back at the living room door.

"I'm not saying a word," Sherlock said quietly.

"Wise," Amelia nodded, glancing quickly back at the door, "Very wise, indeed," she looked back to Sherlock and smiled faintly seeing him glance down at his tied scarf, only to sigh and lift up his hand in exasperation.

John cast another look at the door, before turning back to Sherlock, "I'm still waiting," he said to him with an expectant expression, buttoning his jacket.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed, looking back up to him.

"Why did they try to kill me and Amelia? If they knew you and Amelia were on to them, why go after me, as well? Why not just go after Amelia, put _her_ in the bonfire instead of me?"

"That's a very interesting question, John," Amelia frowned, trying to make sense of it herself. She really couldn't see any reason for why they would have had John in that fire with her. She could understand them kidnapping her, she was Sherlock's partner and it sent him a very clear message, but John hadn't even been talking to them back then, so why include him at all?

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted, looking away from them, his expression growing hard, "I don't like not knowing," he grabbed his coat from where he had it draped over the banister, folding it over his arm as he turned and heading off down the stairs. John and Amelia followed behind him, "Unlike your nicely embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat," he commented, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to pull his coat on, "I don't know who is behind all this, but I will find out," he glanced back to meet Amelia's eyes, recalling just how shaken she had been over the entire ordeal. He didn't like dealing with emotions, but dealing with Amelia when she was crying was quite possibly at the top of his list for emotional situations that he wished never to have to witness or be involved with again. It made him feel…something, or rather a mixture of emotions that he wasn't used to feeling seeing her cry. He briefly reached out and touched her am, making her blink slightly in surprise, "I promise you," he said firmly.

She smiled faintly, covering his hand, "Thank you, Holmes," she said softly, before forcing herself to let him go.

John didn't seem to notice anything, or if he did he pretended not to, a small smile on his face as he eyed Sherlock's back, "Don't pretend you're not enjoying this," he told him.

"Hmm?"

"Being back here. Being a hero again".

"Oh, don't be stupid," he shook his head, adjusting his coat. Amelia smiled, looking at him knowingly.

"You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You two _love_ it".

Sherlock finally turned back around to face him, "Love what?"

John shrugged, stepping closer to them, "Being Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson," he replied, making Amelia laugh and shake her head.

He frowned slightly, "I don't even know what that's supposed to mean," he gave him a look as he turned and began to head off down the entrance hallway, pulling his gloves on as Amelia trailed right behind him, reaching up to flatten her hair in preparation for what was to come next.

"Sherlock," John called from behind them, still standing in the same spot, watching them carefully, "You are gonna tell me _how_ you did it?" he said to him, making them both pause with their backs to him, "How you jumped off that building and survived?"

Sherlock exchanged a look with Amelia, "You know my methods, John," he commented lightly, not looking back to him, "I am known to be indestructible".

"You wish," Amelia muttered, giving him an amused look.

"No, but seriously," John eyed them both, "When you were dead, I went to your grave, Sherlock…"

"I should hope so".

"I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you both".

"Yes, we know," Amelia said softly as both she and Sherlock turned back to face him. She smiled sadly at him, recalling that day well.

"We were there," Sherlock agreed.

"I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead".

"We heard you," he said softly. They stared at each other for a long moment before he took a deep breath, "Anyway," he turned back around to face the door and clapped his hands. He glanced back to Amelia, "Time to go and be Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson," he smiled slightly.

"It's good to be back," Amelia laughed, grinning broadly. In a way, it really did feel like she was home again, being back here at Baker Street with John and Sherlock, just as it was meant to be.

Sherlock took a step towards the door, when he paused and grimaced slightly, reaching over to where someone had left his deerstalker hanging on the coat rack by the door. He put it on his head and adjusted it into position, but what really surprised Amelia was when he reached up to pull his scarf from around his neck and turned to her, lopping it around her neck without even pausing to ask her for permission.

"Sherlock, what…" she blinked, startled as she stared down the blue fabric already warming her neck.

"Just like the old days," he shrugged, giving her a quick smile before offering her his arm, which she slowly smiled and linked her arm through his, stepping outside together to be faced by the flashing of camera lights and shouts of reporters, with John moving to stand on the other side of Sherlock.

Together, the three of them faced down the reporter's questions, because when the three of them were together, they could face down just about anything.

 _ **Yes! One episode down, two more to go, for this season, anyway. I've already written about half of the next episode, but you won't be seeing that quite yet. The next chapter, while a lot shorter than normal, is also an originally piece. I can't wait for you guys to see it. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	8. Chapter 8 Finally!

_**Finally!**_

It had been two days since they had held their press conference outside of Baker Street and Amelia was standing in the doorway of her new bedroom, looking it over thoughtfully. She had finally decided that yes, Sherlock did have a logical point in his suggestion of her taking John's old room, and so after they had finished dealing with the press and returned back upstairs to where everyone had been still drinking and talking, she had made the announcement of her decision to move in. Needless to say, most of the room had been quite surprised by the news, John had even taken her aside to ask her, very seriously, if she was still suffering with smoke inhalation, to which she had laughed and told him that she might very well still be affected by it. Sherlock hadn't seemed the slightest bit surprised, however, and had simply rolled his eyes at her and muttered something about her taking her time. She had chosen to ignore that little comment.

John's old room was smaller than she would have preferred, but it was large enough to fit her queen size bed and dressing table, along with a small TV unit so that she wouldn't bother Sherlock with her preferred television shows. She had even been slightly surprised to discover that it had a rather sizable built-in wardrobe that run along one side of the room, which accounted for why the room was slightly smaller then it ought to have been. She doubted that John would have even been able to fill it when he had lived there; she certainly wasn't going to have that issue.

Sitting on the bed was an open suitcase that was half packed with a few pieces of just simple, casual clothing. She was planning to make a trip back to Yorkshire, she didn't feel right just leaving it behind like she had, she had formed real friendships up there and spent two years of her life living in that small village, she felt like she needed to go back up there and try to…well, she wasn't entirely sure what she needed to do. Make amends? She supposed that was probably why she felt like she needed to go back there, even if it was going to be very hard and awkward now that everyone knew what she had been keeping from them. She just hoped that they would forgive her or, at the very least, allow her to try and explain.

Soft violin music drifted up the stairs to her and she smiled faintly, closing her eyes briefly as she allowed the beautiful melody to wash over her. It was a music piece that she hadn't heard Sherlock play before, but she had noticed that before she had left to start packing after dinner that he had been eyeing his violin thoughtfully. The music itself was different from his usual pieces, less dark and lighter, with softer undertones to it and a warmth in it that was unusual for him to express in one of his compensations. She could practically feel her fingers itching to learn the piece herself so that she could play it, though she was still missing her violin and clarinet, but it was just one of those pieces that she simply had to learn to play so that she could fully feel the impact of the notes. It was one thing to hear it, but quite another to actually play, the emotions were always more raw when you played a piece of music yourself rather than just simply listened to it. You actually had to _feel_ the full impact of the emotions behind the notes to fully play a piece like that, deep inside you; otherwise it would just simply be a pretty melody with no true core to it. Nice to listen to, but lacking to the untrained musical ear and Amelia had spent almost thirty years of her life learning to play classical violin. She recognised a song with true beauty and meaning when she heard one.

She slowly began to make her way back down stairs, the music growing louder as she reached the bottom step of the landing and moved to stand in the open living room door. Sherlock was standing in the furthest window of the room, his back facing her as he expertly played the song, but she didn't need to see his face to be able to tell that he wasn't looking at the scribbled sheet music that he had clipped to the stand beside him. She listened to the song until he finished the last note, but he didn't move, his violin still poised beneath his chin and bow lightly resting on the strings.

"What do you think?" he asked suddenly, his back still facing her but he had lifted his head slightly.

Amelia broke into a broad smile, actually feeling a little tearful by the song, "Stunning," she said after a moment. She stepped further into the room and slipped the door shut behind her, just as he turned to face her, lowering the instrument, "By far my favourite piece I have heard you play yet, Holmes".

"It's slightly different to my usual work".

"Yes, I noticed," she nodded, walking closer to him. She looked at him curiously for a moment, "Out of curiosity, what made you compose it?"

"It was a very persistent piece," he replied, shrugging lightly as he turned away from and leaned over to the dining table, gently placing his violin down on top of the paper that littered the table already. He turned back to her, his expression guarded, almost calculating her. Amelia couldn't get a sense of exactly what was going through his head in that moment, which, while not unusual, was still a little frustrating, "I've had it stuck in the back of my head for two years," he continued lightly, making her blink.

"Two years? You've had the same song stuck in your head for _two_ _whole years_?"

Sherlock's mouth twitched very slightly, "I didn't exactly have much time to write it down while bringing down your brother's web, Amelia," he reminded her, seeming amused by how startled and surprised she looked.

She shook her head, a small smile crossing her own face, "I realise that," she said with a slight eye roll, "But two years is a very long time to still be inspired to compose the same song".

"As I said, it was _very_ persistent".

"Does it have a name yet?"

His eyes narrowed very slightly and that calculating expression returned, almost as if he was trying to determine what her reaction might be. It made her a little nervous, "It's called…'Amelia,'" he eventually said, not taking his eyes off hers.

Amelia stared at him, actually taking a small step back in her shock. She felt positive that she had misheard him, but as her brain began to catch up with her, she realised that she hadn't. He had said exactly what she had thought she had heard the first time. She didn't know what to say, what event to think, there was just so many emotions coursing through her that she wasn't even sure if she would be able to say anything in that very moment. He, Sherlock Holmes, had composed a song that he had named after _her_ and spent the last two years waiting to get the chance to write. What on Earth did one even say to hearing something like that? Somehow, saying 'thank you' didn't seem to cut it.

"You…" she began, her voice sounding slightly higher than normal, unable to stop staring at him. He didn't seem to be overly concerned about her reaction, he just simply continued to watch her carefully, "You wrote a song…after me?" she breathed.

"Yes," he said simply.

"I…" she stopped, shaking her head at an attempt to kick-start her brain again. She licked her lips, her mouth feeling quite dry now, "I thought there was only one woman who would receive that honour".

"You shouldn't make such assumptions, Amelia".

"Sherlock, that wasn't just a song, that was…more like a declaration," she blinked slightly at herself at that deduction, it had been one that she hadn't expected to make, but clearly her subconscious had noticed something that not even she had. It made sense to her, though, far more sense then she could have even realised and even Sherlock seemed a little taken aback by that as his eyes widened very slightly. She slowly nodded thoughtfully, her mind already running off with her, "Music, you use it as a way for you to be able to express yourself, how you truly feel. It's an outlet for you when you don't feel or are comfortable enough to put feelings into words, just like when we thought Adler had died the first time. You spent days composing that song, you poured your grief into it because you either couldn't or didn't know how to do it any other way. Music was your release, it's a way for you to truly connect on an emotional level that you feel comfortable doing because…"

Sherlock suddenly moved towards her and, in a startling move that shocked her into silence, grabbed her face gently between his hands, leaning his face an inch from her own. She could practically count every one of his pale eyelashes, "Amelia…" he sighed in mild exasperation and fondness, his breath lightly ghosting over her face as she could only stare at him, "Please do shut up," he closed the distance, pressing his lips against hers.

Amelia didn't even need to think twice before she was kissing him back, her hands instantly grabbing at the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. It was different from the last and first time that they had kissed, filled with more hunger and passion then before. It shocked her; she would never have imagined that Sherlock would actually be capable of kissing someone like that, with that much unbridled passion that it really didn't even surprise her when she felt her back hit the bookcase beside the fireplace, the shelves digging almost painfully into her back, but she hardly noticed in the moment. Where on Earth had Sherlock been hiding all of this? She really was stunned that someone that was so carefully controlled and detached with his emotions could be able to kiss like this, with his body pressing her against the bookcase and his hands now moving down to rest around her waist. Well, she supposed that if you did spend so much time trying to pretend like you didn't feel the same emotions and impulses like everyone else; eventually you would end up just exploding. Was she thinking too much about this? Somehow she felt like she really was thinking too much and not just simply enjoying the moment.

Both gasping for breath, they finally pulled away from each other and stared at one another. Sherlock looked rather shocked himself by what had just occurred, his hair was all over the place and three buttons of his shirt had been undone at some point during the exchange, though Amelia really couldn't remember doing it. She imagined that she was probably in a similar state, though she suspected that it would a lot worse if she hadn't been dressed in just a pair of jeans and a jumper. Sherlock would have definitely have had red lipstick all over his mouth if she had been wearing any in that moment. That was probably a good thing, though. Nothing said that someone had just had a massive snog session like red lipstick marks.

"That was…unexpected," Sherlock said after a moment, sounding breathless and still quite surprised.

"You're telling me," Amelia murmured, unable to meet his eyes, which was a little silly considering what had just happened. She could feel her cheeks warming and wished very dearly that she wouldn't blush, she was to old be blushing over something like this. She shifted a little uncomfortably, the pain in her back from the wooden shelving digging into her back making her grimace faintly, and Sherlock, noticing, took a step back from her to give her room to move away from the shelves, "So…" she glanced back up to him, straightening her jumper that had been hitched up slightly, "That's a bit hard to just ignore".

His eyes snapped back to her, frowning, "Is that what you intended to do?"

"You didn't?"

He rolled his eyes at her, and finally the world began to make a bit more sense to her again as a little bit of the Sherlock that she was used to returned, "Obviously there is something between us…"

" _Obviously_ ," Amelia cut across him, shaking her head her as a lightly touched her tingling lips.

"And while sentiment and romantic entanglement…" he practically spat out the last word, as if it personally offended him, "Are two things that I have had no interest or time for in the past, it is quite clear to me that own body and mind are rebelling against me".

She smiled faintly, "Only you could come to such a conclusion and not just accept the simple truth behind it," she remarked fondly, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her, "You're only human, Sherlock," she told him, her tone softening and growing warmer, "And as a human, you are still just as at risk to the same basic urges that all humans have. The desire for another or wish to have a romantic connection with someone is something that everyone must struggle with, even you. Sure, that usually starts as a teenager, but I suppose that being a thirty seven year old man is close enough".

"Thirty six," he corrected absently, frowning. There was only two years between them, after all, but that was hardly the point at the moment. He let out a frustrated sigh and looked back to her, "If that's your conclusion, then what do you propose we do?"

"Well, romance and work isn't a good idea, but clearly we can't just pretend like this didn't happen. If you were anyone else I would suggest that we date, but since it's you and I don't even know if you would be willing to consider that…"

"I would be…willing," he interrupted her, making her quickly close her mouth, her eyes widening slightly.

She swallowed, hard, "Really?"

"I don't expect it will be easy, for either of us, however, given what has occurred, I think that I would be prepared to try this new arrangement".

"You make it sound _so_ romantic. Sherlock, if we do this, then you and I will be officially _dating_. That means that I will be, well, your girlfriend and that will change the whole dynamic between us. Are you really sure that's what you want? Once we start this, there might be no going back. This is going to completely take you out of your comfort zone, Holmes, everything that you have ever laughed and scoffed at about romance, that's basically what you are agreeing to if we do this. I mean, of course we're take things slowly and I have no intention of ever making you feel uncomfortable about anything or pushing you further then you are ready, but…"

"Amelia," Sherlock sighed loudly, giving her a look that made her trail off, "I am aware of all of this. Are you sure that _you_ want to do this?" he narrowed his eyes slightly, making her frown in confusion, "Past experience dealing with me ought to give you some idea of just what you would be getting yourself involved in".

Amelia smiled broadly, "I know, believe me, I _know_ ," she laughed slightly, shaking her head, "John is probably going to think that I have completely lost my mind, but I follow my heart when it comes to this sort of thing and right now, my heart tells me to take a leap and even if it does end in heartbreak, at least I'll be able to say that I tried and, hopefully, made some great memories".

Silence fell over the room as they simply looked at each other for a long moment, the distance noise of police sirens sounding through the room and Mrs Hudson banging pots and pans around downstairs, oblivious to what was going on just above her head.

"I suppose this means…" he trailed off, a little awkwardly.

"Yes, I guess so," she nodded, shifting a bit on the spot, but she couldn't stop the massive grin from spreading across her face as she meet his eyes. This was it, after two years of waiting, and there really wasn't much more that either of them could or, possibly in Sherlock's case, could say on the matter. They were _dating_ , actually in a romantic relationship with one another. For the first time in five and half years since her first husband had been killed, she was no longer a single woman. That in itself was slightly shocking, never mind who she was now dating.

Sherlock slowly broke into wide smile and that was really the only thing that she needed before she half threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him a tight hug that he, after a moment, slowly returned. She knew it was going to be hard, Sherlock had never dated or had a romantic partner before, but she was prepared to be patient and give him the time that he would need to adjust to this new chapter in their lives. Sure, she would probably feel like beating his head against the wall and he, in turn, would probably toy with the idea of different ways that he could kill her without being caught, something she knew he liked to do with everyone, but no relationship was perfect. Certainly not theirs and she was happy with that.

 _ **And it's finally happened! Sherlock and Amelia are together, yay! It's only taken four years, but I really did need to take a lot of time to build the relationship before I felt that it was ready for romance. I'm kind of curious but does anyone have a shipping name that could be used for these two? WilsonLock? I seriously can't even think of one. God, I am just so excited that these two are together! But, just to be clear, they're not in love with each other yet, this is just the start. But the good news is that the next chapter starts six months after this one, so they will, hopefully, be a bit more comfortable with each other by then. The song that Sherlock's written for Amelia is 'Say something,' violin cover. I'll have a link to it on my tumblr, if anyone would be interested.**_

 _ **Next chapter, John and Mary's wedding! Sherlock and Amelia as a couple! Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	9. Chapter 9 The Sign of Three, Part 1

_**The Sign of Three, Part 1**_

Six months had gone by and finally, the day of John and Mary's much awaited wedding was only a week away. Amelia really couldn't have been more thrilled and excited for the pair, they really were perfectly matched together and just watching the two of them together over the past six months had been a delight. Mary was exactly what John had always been looking for, a strong and intelligent woman that was more than able to keep him and even _Sherlock_ in check. Amelia had to say that she was rather impressed at how well Mary could handle him; she had certainly picked up on just how to manipulate him very quickly.

Sherlock was, of course, the best man for the wedding, that had been a no brainer for everyone that John would ask him, but what had surprised Amelia was when they had asked her to be a groom's woman. Mary had apparently been planning to ask her to be a bridesmaid, but after reading an article in a wedding magazine about the trend of grooms incorporating their female friends into their side of the wedding party, Mary had thought it would be perfect for Amelia and Amelia…well, she was just delighted to even be playing _any_ role in the wedding, let alone being able to stand beside John and Sherlock, and sit up at the top table with the rest of the wedding party. Plus, it also had the added benefit of her getting the chance to pick her own dress, under Mary's final say so, of course.

Amelia was practically humming with excitement; it almost felt like it was her wedding with how much time and effort she and Sherlock had put into insuring that the entire thing went off perfectly. They had even both written a little song for the happy couple to dance to on their first dance together as husband and wife, helped with the seating arrangement with their ability to see who actually liked Mary or John, and taken John out on his stag night…though, the less said about that disaster, the better.

Of course, when it came to weddings, Amelia really wasn't thinking of herself and Sherlock. Sure, they had been dating for six months now, but they hadn't progressed that far in regards to their relationship. They still maintained separate bedrooms and nothing further then kissing had occurred between them, but she was happy. Very much so. Okay, so Sherlock could be a bit of a pain, as far as being romantically involved with, and did tend to need to be prompted at times with things that most guys would just naturally do in those early stages of a relationship, like complimenting her. But Sherlock had his own way of showing that he cared, like playing her song when he could tell that her patients dealing with him that day might be wearing a bit thin, or randomly making her a cup of tea. That always made her smile because he never made tea or coffee for _anyone_ , it was practically his way of saying, 'thanks for putting up with me and all my nonsense. I made this to prove that I'm trying to be a better boyfriend,' or something along those lines.

In turn, Amelia tried to be understanding and aware of his shifts of mood, giving him space when it became a bit overwhelming for him and finding little ways to gently assure him that she knew that he was trying hard and was grateful for his attempts to compensate for her. She was always mindful that he tended to get a bit uncomfortable about expressing physical contact in public; he could even get a bit twitchy about it around people like Lestrade and even John, so she usually left it to him to be the one to initiate any physical contact when they were in public. Being involved with Sherlock was quite unlike any other romantic relationship she had ever been in, with far more challenges then she had gone through before, but it also felt like it would be worth it, in the end, whatever that might mean.

Humming happily to herself, she strolled into the living room through the kitchen, holding two cups of tea in her hands. Sherlock was frowning as he sat at the dining table, focused entirely on the open laptop before him with an open book beside him, the title reading, 'How to write an unforgettable best man speech'. She made her way over to him and placed his cup on the table in reach for him, lifting her own cup up to her mouth to lightly blow on the surface.

"How's it coming along, William?" she asked, smirking slightly to herself.

Sherlock cringed very slightly and fixed her with a small glare, "Why do you insist on calling me by that name?"

"Well, you told me off for trying to call you 'honey' and 'sweetie,' so I figured I would just call you by your proper first name. I like calling you something no one else does, it makes it special".

He sighed heavily, returning his eyes to the laptop screen, "I'll have to speak to my mother about what she is allowed to tell you about me," he muttered, exasperated.

"Oh, it's sweet," she cooed slightly, knowing that it would only annoy him more. She smiled, taking a sip of her tea and swallowing the sweetened liquid, "You know, William happens to be my favourite boy's name".

"Apparently".

She smiled lightly, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice, "Speaking of your mother, she sent me another picture this morning".

"Oh, dear God…" Sherlock groaned, closing his eyes briefly, dreading hearing what it was this time. He had a pretty good idea.

"Hmm, it's another hint about engagement rings," she nodded, her smile widening. She placed the cup on the table beside his and moved to stand behind his chair, reaching up to lightly toy with his hair.

He sighed again, "I'm going to have a little chat with Mycroft about teaching her how to text".

"She's just happy. I can't say I blame her; she probably gave up hope thinking either you or Mycroft would manage to get a girlfriend. I think it's sweet".

"Of course you do," he suddenly tilted his head back so that he could look up at her face, upside down. There was a note of fondness in his voice, "Ever the sentimentalist, Amelia".

She smiled broadly and leaned over to lightly press a kiss onto his forehead, before straightening and making her way back over to her tea. She pulled out one of the dining chairs and took a seat, crossing her legs as she looked back across to him, "You never said how the speech is going?" she reminded him, picking up her cup and sipping it.

"Painfully. I've had to send for reinforcements".

She lowered the cup, raising an eyebrow at him, "Oh?" she asked curiously, just as the sound of police and ambulance sirens began blaring in the distance outside the open window. She frowned slightly sat the cup back down on the table, rising onto her feet to walk over to the furthest window of the living room, drawing back the lace curtain. She blinked, slightly alarmed to see an unmarked police car suddenly come squealing down the street, narrowly avoiding hitting a parked car as it came to a sudden stop right outside the front door of Baker Street, "What on Earth…?" she trailed off.

The driver's door was flung open and the unmistakeable figure of Lestrade bolted out and around the car, running for the front door. The sirens in the distance continued to blare, growing louder as Amelia could only watch on in confusion and alarm, just as the front door banged open below and the sound of frantic, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs outside. She spun around to face the room, just as Lestrade came running into the room through the kitchen door, looking around widely, as if he was half expecting some criminal with a gun to come leaping out at him.

"What's going on?" Lestrade asked urgently, breathless as he looked back and forth between the detectives. Amelia could only frown and turn questioningly to Sherlock, who had his fingers pressed against his temples, his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

"This is hard," he remarked, very seriously.

"What?" he took a step closer towards him.

"Really hard," he continued, and Amelia could only frown deeper, feeling completely lost as to what the hell was going, "Hardest thing I've had to do," he bit his lower lip and lowered his hands from his temples, grabbing the guide book to writing best man speeches from beside him. He held it up for Lestrade to see the cover, his eyes still on the screen, "Have you any funny stories about John?"

Outside, the sirens sounded loudly and the sound of tires squealing against the road outside came, followed by the flashing blue lights of the police cars. Amelia really was lost, now. What the hell was going on? She moved back to peer out the window, her eyes widening at the sight of no less than five police cars parked on the street below, blocking off the road. Surely…no, Sherlock would have told Lestrade that it was just about the best man speech…oh, who was she kidding? He once sent her a text telling her that he needed help desperately, only to rush back to the flat to find him missing his blue dressing gown, which happened to be in the wash after he spilt tea on it. Of course he probably sent Lestrade a text that made it sound like they were being murdered. He really was such a drama queen, John was spot on about that, not that she would be telling Sherlock that, though.

" _What_?" Lestrade exclaimed, staring at Sherlock with disbelief and exasperation, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Sherlock lowered the book and finally looked back up to him, sighing, "I need anecdotes," he told him, before pausing, noticing Lestrade's expression, "Didn't go to any trouble, did you?"

He simply stared at him, breathing heavily, looking as if he was just restraining himself from lunging at Sherlock as, outside, the sound of the sirens continued blaring loudly through the open window and the sound of a helicopter approaching came. Amelia closed her eyes tightly and covered her face as Sherlock slowly glanced at the window, finally noticing all the noise. The curtain gently blew into the room and a breeze knocked the sheet music he had clipped to his stand onto the floor as the helicopter hovered lower above the street. Slowly, Sherlock turned back to look at Lestrade, who closed his eyes in exasperation.

"It's official," Amelia breathed, shaking her head as she uncovered her face to look directly across the room to Sherlock, "I am dating a complete and utter idiot," and with that, she turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen, really not in the mood to be dealing with all _that_ right now.

…

At long last, John and Mary's wedding day finally arrived, and Sherlock and Amelia were both up bright an early. Amelia had quickly dressed in a simple pair of jeans and shirt, and made herself some toast, Sherlock had declined her offer to make him some. Once she had finished her quick breakfast, she had quickly kissed his cheek and headed off for her salon appointment to get her hair and makeup done professionally.

She was delighted to see the end result, with her hair smothered back and tied at the base of her neck in a cinnamon roll bun. She had, of course, picked out her favourite red lipstick, sweeping eyeliner, and red nail polish. She probably could have done it all herself, she was quite skilled at hair and makeup already, but since it was John and Mary's wedding, she had felt like it would be as good as any time for her to get it done professionally.

She arrived back at Baker Street to find Sherlock practising the waltz by himself in the middle of the living room as soft violin music played from a small speaker on the dining table. She wasn't the slightest bit surprised by the sight and simply walked up to him, lightly tapping his shoulder to make her presences known.

He stopped dancing and raised an eyebrow at her, eyeing her newly done hair and makeup, "Exactly what was the point of spending money on doing something you are more than capable of doing yourself?" he asked over the music.

"Every girl has to treat herself sometimes, Holmes," she replied with a shrug. She enjoyed getting her hair and makeup done; it was fun and gave her time to think over exactly what they needed to do once they got to the church. She raised an eyebrow at him, "What do you think?"

"I think you wasted time that could have otherwise have been spent on something more useful".

She sighed, giving him a pointed look, "Sherlock, try again, please".

He blinked at her, confused for a moment, before realisation crossed his face, "Oh, you mean…" he gestured up to his face, and she nodded with a small smile, "Right, yes. Very nice, Amelia".

"Well, I guess it's better than nothing," she rolled her eyes, though she was a little amused.

He gave her a small smile and held out his hand, and she couldn't help returning the smile. There it was, his attempt to do something sweet to try and makeup to her. She happily took his hand and together, they began waltzing slowly along with the music, both perfectly in sync. It wasn't the first time they had danced in preparation for the wedding, but Amelia had also had lessons years ago and had already known how to waltz just as well as Sherlock had, which had surprised him slightly. The sound of the landing door creaking open sounded over the music, making them both look over to see Mrs Hudson walk into the room with a large smile on her face and carrying a tray with two tea cups and a teapot sitting on it.

"Shut up, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock told her before she even had a chance to open her mouth, twirling Amelia around.

"Behave, Sherlock," Amelia scolded lightly, giving him a look as she was twirled back towards him again, though her scolding was slightly ruined by the small upturn of her painted lips.

"I haven't said a word," Mrs Hudson said, shaking her head. She paused in the doorway to watch the two continue to dance together, a warm smile on her face at the sight. It wasn't often she caught the two of them actually doing anything possibly couple related, she knew it was due to Amelia not wishing to make Sherlock uncomfortable, but when she did see the brief moments between them, it always made her smile. Sherlock always tried to pretend as if he didn't care, but she knew better, she saw the way his eyes followed Amelia around when he didn't think anyone was paying attention to him. She knew he felt just as deeply for Amelia as she did for him.

He let out a loud sigh, "You're formulating a question," he rolled his eyes, still dancing, "It's physically painful watching you thinking".

Amelia let go of his hand and dropped her hand from around his back, forcing him to come to a sharp stop. She fixed him with a warning look, not pleased, "Sherlock," she said sternly, lowering her voice slightly so that only he could hear, "Be _nice_ ".

Sherlock sighed again, this time louder, and gave a small nod in her direction, seeming to realise that it would be better to just simply do as she said and not try to test her that morning.

"I thought it was you two playing," Mrs Hudson remarked, watching them as Amelia moved to sit on Sherlock's usual chair, kicking her sneakers off and curling her legs beneath her.

"It _was_ us playing," he said with a touch of annoyance in his tone, though he was clearly trying to make an effort to actually be a bit nicer. He grabbed the remote off the dining table and switched the music off, dropping the remote back down as he leaned over a piece of sheet music that was sitting beside the speaker, jotting down a small note. It was his and Amelia's joint present to John and Mary for their wedding, they had worked together to compose it and then recorded them playing the tune together to make sure it flowed smoothly for dancing. He kept his head down, not looking at Mrs Hudson as he went on, "We are composing," he lied, wishing that he hadn't been so focused on dancing with Amelia to not hear Mrs Hudson approaching on the stairs.

"You were dancing," she corrected, smirking slyly at the pair as she gave Amelia a little wink, making the brunet smile. She stepped further into the room and placed the tray on the table beside John's old chair.

"We were road-testing".

"You what?"

"It's just a few last minute checks," Amelia informed her with a small shrug, though she couldn't help smiling softly. She did enjoy dancing with Sherlock, who was surprisingly very good at it and she knew for a fact that he loved it, he had even confined as much to her after their first little dance session the week before after she had expressed her surprise as how skilled he was. She looked back to the older woman, "We need to make sure it runs smoothly".

Sherlock dropped his pen back onto the table and spun around to face the women, narrowing his eyes at Mrs Hudson, who was still smiling with that annoyingly knowing look on her face. It was the same look that John got lately whenever he caught him and Amelia smiling at each other or doing anything the slightest bit more then friendly, "Why are you here?" he demanded.

Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes slightly at him, used to him as she began pouring tea into their cups, "I'm bringing you and Amelia your morning tea," she replied, sitting the teapot back down on the tray and moving to pour a bit of milk into the cups. She threw him a pointed look, "You're not usually awake".

"You really don't have to do this, Mrs Hudson," Amelia said with a small sigh. She had tried to get her to stop waiting on them and bringing tea up for them in the mornings, but she insisted, no matter what she tried to say. It made her feel a little guilty, and so she had taken to making sure that she was always around to help her whenever she brought her shopping home or brought her a extra helping of whatever she cooked, though that hadn't happened lately since they had all been so busy with the wedding and Amelia hadn't had much of a chance to make a proper, cooked meal. Not that whatever she did cook was ever very fancy, but it made her feel slightly better.

"Oh, don't be silly," Mrs Hudson shook her head, giving her a motherly look as she picked up one of the tea cups and held it out to her. Amelia rose and took it, giving her a grateful smile before returning back to the seat.

Sherlock frowned at the older woman, perching himself on the armrest of his chair beside Amelia, "You bring us tea in the morning?" he asked, surprised by the news.

"Well, where d'you think it came from?" she laughed, shaking her head at him.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "I thought it sort of _happened_ ".

"So says Sherlock Holmes, the one and only Consulting Detective," Amelia said in a teasing tone, lightly nudging his side as he glanced down at her, "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, "I'm hardly the _only_ consulting detective now," he pointed out, his voice light as he gave her a pointed look.

"Hmm, I suppose I am, technically, a consulting detective," she agreed thoughtfully, never having actually thought about it before now. She had always thought of herself as just a privet detective, even when she had began consulting with the police before she had meet Sherlock, but she supposed that since most of her cases also involved Sherlock lately, that meant that she was a consultant now. It felt a little strange to think of herself like that, but she actually rather enjoyed it. Privet detectives dealt largely with cheating husbands and wives, consulting detectives dealt with murders and the police, she knew which one she preferred.

Mrs Hudson tutted, drawing their attention back to her, "Your mother has a lot to answer for," she said to Sherlock, picking up his tea cup and saucer, carrying it over to him.

"Mm, I know," Sherlock hummed, taking the offered cup, ignoring the disapproving look Amelia was giving him over the top of her own cup for not getting up himself to get it, "I have a list," he lifted the cup up to his mouth, pausing as he glanced at Amelia, "Mycroft has a _file_ ".

Amelia's mouth twitched, "Oh, I imagine," she muttered, not the slightest bit surprised as she took a sip of tea. Mycroft probably had a whole filling cabinet on Sherlock and she still wouldn't be surprised.

Mrs Hudson giggled excitedly, happily sitting down in John's old chair, "So!" she began, her eyes bright as she looked between the couple, her excitement practically radiating off of her, "It's the big day, then!"

Sherlock frowned at her, lowering his teacup as he swallowed his mouthful, "What big day?" he asked, acting as if he didn't know perfectly what day it was.

"The wedding! John and Mary getting married!"

"They do grow up so fast," Amelia commented playfully, smiling softly as she took another sip, very nearly draining the entire cup. She quickly checked her watch, though, thankfully, she still had plenty of time to get her dress and jewellery on before they would need to leave.

Sherlock gave Mrs Hudson an unimpressed look, "Two people are currently living together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday and then carry on living together," he rolled his eyes, "What's big about that?"

Mrs Hudson gave him a look, "It changes people, marriage," she told him firmly, "Just ask Amelia," she nodded to Amelia, recalling the very few times that she had spoken to her about her own marriage. It was easy to forget that Amelia had been married before, she so rarely liked to speak of it but lately, she had been slightly more open about it, giving Mary extra tips and advice from her own experience as a bride.

Sherlock ignored that remark about Amelia, not entirely liking to think too deeply about Amelia's past romantic relationships, "Hmm, no, it doesn't," he said, pretending to think about it for a moment.

"It does," Amelia nodded, making him frown slightly at her. She shrugged, "A little bit, though I wasn't exactly married long enough to really be an expert".

"Well, you wouldn't understand, 'cos you always lived alone," Mrs Hudson shook her head at him, before smiling faintly, "Maybe you'll start to understand it a bit more now," she gave him and Amelia a pointed look.

Sherlock lifted his teacup up to his mouth before he paused, narrowing his eyes at her, "Your husband was executed for double murder," he reminded her pointedly, scoffing, "You're hardly an advert for companionship," he sipped his tea.

"Sherlock…" Amelia said in a warning tone, throwing him a quick look. He sighed loudly and glanced at her.

Mrs Hudson looked firmly at Sherlock, who pulled his eyes off Amelia and looked back to her, "Marriage changes you as a person, in ways that you can't imagine".

"As does a lethal injection," he smiled pointedly at her.

"Honestly, Holmes," Amelia muttered, nudging his side a bit sharper, making him wince and glare down at her. She didn't even blink at his glare, giving it back to him just as fiercely, "Be nice or I swear, I will punch you and then you can deal with angry bride for having a black eye in her wedding pictures".

"You wouldn't," he narrowed his eyes.

She looked straight back at him, raising an eyebrow, "Try me".

"My best friend, Margaret, she was my chief bridesmaid," Mrs Hudson began, completely oblivious to the two detectives staring challengingly at each other, neither one quite ready to back down. After a moment, Sherlock sighed and broke eye contact, making Amelia grin victoriously as she watched him lean over to place his empty teacup on the table beside him, "We were going to be best friends forever, we always said that," she continued, shaking her head sadly as Sherlock glance back to her, rolling his eyes, "But I hardly saw her after that".

Amelia nodded to her, looking sympathetic, "I didn't have any bridesmaids when I got married," she commented, sounding a little sad as she thought back to that day, "I didn't have any female friends I liked well enough to ask".

Sherlock suddenly stood, eyeing the tea tray, "Aren't there usually biscuits?" he asked, cutting in as he glanced at Mrs Hudson.

"I've run out," the older woman replied with a small sigh.

"Have the shops?" he walked pointedly over towards the living room door, glancing back to her with a tight expression on his face.

Amelia eyed Sherlock's back with a small, concerned frown. Ever since they had began dating and living together, she had began to find it easier to read him, to pick up the subtle signs of when he felt uncomfortable, and right now he was ringing every single bell in her head. She knew that he was worried about losing John, she knew that he had been silently panicking about the idea ever since John and Mary had officially became engaged. He hadn't said a word to her, but she knew, she could read it in his body language alone in this moment that he was only just keeping it together and holding himself back from fully snapping at Mrs Hudson. She felt a little bad about having scolded him before about the way he had behaved, but he would be okay, she would see to that. She knew that John getting married would change nothing, they were friends, a team, Sherlock just had to see that for himself that this wasn't the end.

"She cried the whole time," Mrs Hudson continued, not noticing a thing as Amelia's eyes remained fixed on Sherlock, "Saying, 'ooh, it's the end of an era'".

Sherlock spun around from the door and shot Amelia a half pleading look, "I'm sure the shop on the corner is open…" he tried, gesturing hopefully towards the door again.

"Mrs Hudson…" Amelia began politely, sitting forward in the chair.

"She was probably right, really," the older woman went on, not seeming to hear a word of what either of them said. Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes tightly as Amelia cast him a worried look, "I remember she left early," she sighed, glancing at Amelia, "I mean, who leaves a wedding early?" she shook her head, "So sad".

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed, giving her a pointed look, "Anyway, you have things to do…"

"No, not really," she smiled slightly, glancing back over to him, "I've got plenty of time to…"

"Mrs Hudson…" Amelia started again.

"Biscuits!" Sherlock said sternly, raising his voice slightly. He completely cut across Amelia, half glaring at the older woman, though, not even Amelia had it in her to tell him off right now.

Mrs Hudson gasped and jumped, startled, "I'm really am going to have a word with your mother," she said as she stood and began to make her way over to the living room door.

"You can if you like," he told her, watching her go, "She understands very little," he shut the door behind her and turned back around, his eyes meeting Amelia's briefly before he sighed and looked away, only for his eyes to land on John's old chair. He stared at if for a long moment, his expression growing sadder.

Amelia stood and stepped over to him, placing a hand on his arm, making him look back to her in mild surprise, as if he had forgotten she was there. She smiled at him gently and reached up to cup his cheek, running her thumb along his cheekbone, "It's not the end, Sherlock," she assured him softly, "Far from it. This is just the beginning of a new chapter. Friendships might fade, but family doesn't," she lightly pressed a kiss to his cheek, but just before she made contact, he turned his face and caught her lips, instead. It hardly lasted less than ten seconds before they pulled away, but she still smiled at him and sighed, "And now you have lipstick on you".

He hardly blinked, not seeming to be overly concerned, "We should get ready".

"Will you be wearing the lipstick, or…"

He rolled his eyes and shut her up with another quick kiss, only making his lipstick mark even worse. As they pulled apart, he used the back of his hand to wipe his lips clean, or at least some of it. He sighed slightly and shot John's old chair another look, before forcing himself to look away and turn back to her, "Right, then," he remarked quietly, taking a deep breath, "Into battle".

"We had better get our armour on first," Amelia said lightly, pressing one last kiss to his cheek before turning on her heel and walking out of the living room door, heading upstairs to her bedroom as she left him to get ready. She stepped into her room and instantly paused to look at her grooms woman's outfit. The dress was a black sued, double breasted tuxedo dress that had gold buttons running along the front of it, while her shoes were very high, sued Louboutin T-strap platform heels with a peep toe. The necklace was black and gold cluster, with black and gold quilted detailing stud earrings. She also had a black clutch bag with embroidered gold detailing and she was also planning to wear a pair of black stockings with a seam running up the back of them. She ran her eyes over the outfit and smiled to herself, "I love weddings".

…

The wedding went perfectly and was absolutely stunning, Amelia was even guilty of having shed a few tears as she had stood at the front of the church with Sherlock beside her, watching as John and Mary had exchanged their vows. She hadn't been the only one, even Mary had got a little tearful, looking beautiful dressed in her white wedding gown and veil. John had looked very handsome himself, dressed in his morning coat and grey trousers, a small lilac and white rose boutonniere pinned to his lapel, just like Amelia and Sherlock both had, as well, Sherlock dressed exactly the same as John.

The church bells rang as John and Mary, smiling broadly, happily led the way out of the church doors with Sherlock and the Maid of Honour, dressed in a pretty lilac gown, followed behind them, Amelia walking right behind them with the two bridesmaids. The photographer was waiting for them as they made their way out to the front of the church.

"Congratulations!" the photographer called, smiling broadly at the happy couple, getting his camera ready as the wedding party came to a stop before him, John and Mary at the front, "Okay, hold it there, I wanna get this shot of the newlyweds".

Sherlock moved to stand by Mary's side, but Amelia managed to weave around the bridesmaids and get to him, easily linking her arm through his and giving him a wide smile when he blinked back at her, "Come on, Sherlock," she said, gently pulling him away and off to the side, knowing that the photographer would be wanting the married couple first before the rest of the party. They turned back to watch.

"Okay," the photographer continued brightly, leaning towards them as he pressed the camera up to his eyes, "Three, two, one…cheese!"

John and Mary smiled broadly as, at the very moment that the picture was snapped, the bridesmaids standing behind them threw handfuls of confetti and rose petals into the air. The rest of the wedding guests began to make their way out of the church, gathering around at the front of the church to watch and chat as the pictures continued. Amelia smiled brightly back at the camera, her arm linked with Sherlock's as he stood beside her, straight back and expressionless as the photographer snapped a couple of pictures of them together, Amelia had even managed to get Sherlock to smile very faintly for one of the pictures by un-expectantly kissing his cheek in the last picture, though he did send her a small glare when she had pulled back with the sound of John and Lestrade wolf-whistling from a short distance away from them. Amelia had simply laughed and pattered his cheek, knowing perfectly well that he wasn't really upset about publically kissing his cheek; he was just pretending to be for the sake of being a bit embarrassed. If she had thought that he would be genuinely upset or uncomfortable about her kissing his cheek like that in front of everyone, she wouldn't have done it.

More photos came, with Sherlock and John taking a very nice picture together with their grey top hats held in their arms, John smiling at the camera while Sherlock was, once again, straight faced. Amelia stood for a few pictures with them too, as a member of the groom's party, before Mary insisted that she also have a picture with the bride. Even Lestrade got snapped in a few pictures, one including John, Amelia, and Sherlock, with the little curly headed pageboy, Archie, the boy having grown quite fond of Sherlock, though Amelia couldn't say she overly approved of how _that_ had happened. It was a lovely photo with Archie tossing John's hat in the air as the adults, save for Sherlock, laughed, the photographer managing to capture the moment perfectly as rose petals and confetti continued to float through the air.

Eventually, Sherlock found himself standing beside the Maid of Honour. He had already easily deduced that she was Irish, unmarried, and judging from the way she had been eyeing practically every male throughout the day, including him, she had a lot more than just her Maid of Honour duties on her mind that day. He sighed very slightly to himself, his eyes moving to rest on where Amelia was happily chatting away to Lestrade a short distance away, half wishing that she would stop talking to Lestrade and come over here to act as a buffer between him and the guests, including the woman that was standing just a tad too closely to his side for his comfort. That's one of the reasons for why he had been pleased at the news that Amelia would be included in the wedding party, she was much better at dealing with people and taking the attention off him to engage in correct social convention with a group of strangers or people who he really could have cared less about meeting. Without Amelia beside him to act as a buffer to everyone else, he could feel his annoyance starting to grow.

"Okay," the photographer called to Sherlock and the Maid of Honour, Janine, "Looking here for a moment…" Sherlock forced himself to look back up to the camera, refusing to smile again as the camera snapped a few pictures, before the man lowered it and nodded to them, "That's great, thank you," he turned and moved on to take a picture of Molly and her boyfriend, whatever his name was.

As the man moved on, Janine turned towards Sherlock, "The famous Mr Holmes!" she smiled at him, making him inwardly sigh. Her accent was a bit stronger then Amelia's, he noted, and not quite as refined. She continued to smile at him, "I'm very pleased to meet you. But no sex, okay?"

Sherlock blinked, startled, "Um, sorry?" he quickly looked back to her. Of course, neither he nor Amelia had made any public announcement of their relationship, but most people had already assumed that they were dating or had heard about it from John.

"You don't have to look so scared," she laughed faintly, and he almost visibly relaxed, "I'm only messing. Bridesmaid, best man…it's a bit traditional," she lightly nudged his arm, making him glance down at the spot with a small grimace.

He looked away from her again to see that Amelia had finished with her little chat with Lestrade and had looked over in his direction at the same time. He half gave her a pleading look, making her smile and head over towards him, thankfully getting the message, "Is it?" he said to Janine, not taking his eyes off Amelia as she reached them. He fixed a smile onto his face and reached out to place his hand lightly on Amelia's lower back, making her blink at him in surprise as he gently guided her a bit closer, "Have you meet yet?" he asked a little to falsely, looking back to Janine, "This is my girlfriend, Amelia…"

"Right, of course," Janine cut across him, nodding a little awkwardly, "Amelia Wilson, I should have known," she held out a hand to Amelia, who fixed a slightly confused smile onto her face and took it, shaking, "Janine Hawkins".

"Oh, hello," Amelia said, shaking her hand briefly before releasing it, noticing her accent, much to her delight, but she still felt a little confused by why Sherlock seemed to be so quick to introduce her. Usually, he would leave that sort of thing to her or they just simply wouldn't say anything about their relationship, if it was a client or they were working, "It's nice to properly meet you," she went on, casting Sherlock a quick glance, "It seems funny that this is the first proper introduction we have had".

"Oh, I know, I completely forgot that you were Irish. I would have introduced myself sooner".

She laughed, "It's fine, honestly," she assured her, shaking her head, "My accent is so light now, most people don't even catch it…"

"Idiots," Sherlock muttered, scoffing at the stupidity of people to not see what was right in front of them. Amelia shot him a stern look, but didn't say anything.

Janine glanced awkwardly back to Sherlock, smiling a little embarrassedly, "What I said about bridesmaids and the best man," she said a little quickly, making Amelia raise a curious eyebrow. Ah, that would explain why he looked a bit panicked, "I was only joking, it's not obligatory…"

Sherlock glanced back to Amelia, who gave him a pointed look, which made him sigh and turn back to Janine, "If that's the sort of thing you're looking for…" he began before nodding over towards a middle aged man in a blue shirt, talking to another guest, "The man over there in the blue is your best bet," he eyed the man closely as both woman followed his gaze, Janine seeming quite curious, "Recently divorced doctor with a ginger cat, a barn conversion, and a history of erectile dysfunction…" he stopped, blinking slightly in surprise.

Amelia cleared her throat, glancing at Janine, "So, perhaps not the best man for that sort of thing, after all," she remarked lightly.

"Yeah," Janine pulled a slight face, nodding slowly, "Maybe not".

"Sorry," Sherlock frowned, looking slightly puzzled as he looked back to Amelia, "There was one more deduction there than I was expecting".

"Mr Holmes…" she smiled, taking his arm and even Amelia's, making both detectives blink and look at each other, Sherlock frowning at the contact, "Miss Wilson, you're going to be incredibly useful".

….

The wedding reception was being held at Goldney Hall, a large and very old building that was quite beautiful, with large sprawling gardens and lawns, with the actual room that the reception was being held in being very long and had been filled with numerous rounded tables, with only just enough space for people to be able to move around the tables, as the room, while very long, was also quite narrow. Of course, the tables and chairs would all be moved once dinner had been served and the speeches finished to make space for dancing, but Amelia felt that the room really was beautiful. She loved how bright and cheerful it was with the bright yellow walls and the large windows that ran all along the walls. She thought it was perfect, just simply perfect.

The spring sun was shining over the grounds, for once the British weather actually being quite lovely, while the guests began to arrive at the reception. The wedding party had already arrived well before any of them and Mary and John stood by the door to the hall that the reception was being held in, greeting guests as they entered.

Amelia and Sherlock stood beside each other at John's side, watching the guest's approach, Sherlock occasionally whispering a deduction to Amelia, who was struggling not to burst out laughing as he picked out the most embarrassing ones to remark on. He was just doing it to make her crack and laugh because, well, quite frankly, it was a bit boring standing around, welcoming complete strangers. He was getting very close to making her finally crack as her lips trembled with the effort to not giggle. John kept shooting them warning looks, knowing perfectly well what they were doing, but he knew that he couldn't tell them off. He supposed he ought to be just grateful that Sherlock was keeping his deductions to himself and Amelia, and not saying them out loud for the guests to hear.

"Hello!" Mary said brightly as she greeted another guest, before moving on to shake hands with a woman that was wearing a rather large hat, "Lovely to meet you," she smiled, politely kissing the woman's cheek, before the woman moved on to greet John, who gave her a welcoming smile and kissed her cheek, too. Another man stepped forward, kissing Mary's cheek, "How are you?" she asked him.

"You look beautiful, Mary," the man told her.

"Thank you!"

The man moved on to briefly shake John's hand, "Congratulations," he nodded to him, before heading off into the building.

A few more guests came to congratulate John and Mary before moving on through the reception room, when a man wearing a rather bright pink tie and a grey suit neared. Sherlock and Amelia immediately become more interested, eyeing the man.

"David!" Mary greeted brightly, looking delighted to see the man. She reached out to pull him into a hug, but the man laughed shakily and leaned away from her, holding her hands briefly as she blinked at him, confused.

"Mary," David said awkwardly, almost jumping away from her as if he was scared he was going to get burnt. Amelia and Sherlock raised their eyebrows, both looking strangely amused and pleased, "Congratulations. You look, um…" he paused, swallowing nervously, as if his mouth had suddenly gone dry, "Very nice".

She frowned, confused and puzzled, "Thanks".

He moved on to John, reaching out to shake John's hand, "John, congratulations," he nodded to him, glancing back to Mary, his eyes lingering just a bit too long. Amelia cleared her throat a little loudly, and the man jumped and pulled his eyes back to John, a brief look of panic crossing his face, "You're a lucky man," he said hastily.

"Thank you," John smiled slightly, though his eyes did briefly flicker over to Amelia and Sherlock, both looking just a little bit _too_ innocent for his liking.

"Um, er, David," Mary began, shaking off her confusion, "This is Sherlock and Amelia," she gestured across John to the detectives.

Sherlock gave David a tight lipped smile, while Amelia raised her eyebrows at the man and smiled just a bit too friendly. John narrowed his eyes again, really sensing that there was more going on between his two best friends and David.

"Um, yeah," David nodded slowly, glancing warily at the couple, "We've, um…" he paused, swallowing hard again, as if he was having trouble getting the words out, "We've met," he lowered his gaze from them, seeming to become quite interested in his dress shoes.

John and Mary frowned and exchanged a slightly confused look, before both looking expectantly back to the detectives.

…..… _ **Three weeks ago**_ ….…..….

 _David was sitting at the dining table in the living room of Baker Street, curiously looking around the room. It was cleaner than normal; Amelia's doing since stress tended to lead her to clean, even if Sherlock did moan about it and complain that he had a system. Speaking of the detectives, Sherlock and Amelia where sitting across the table from David, both watching him carefully as Sherlock fiddled with a pen. After a moment, he turned back around in his chair to look across to them._

" _So…" he ran his eyes over the table top, seeming to be a little uncomfortable meeting their eyes. He grabbed a SudoKube puzzle cube off from off the table, Sherlock having been fiddling with it earlier that day, and began turning it around in his hand. Sherlock narrowed his eyes very slightly, not overly impressed as he finally looked up to meet their eyes, "What exactly are my duties as an usher?" he asked, looking between them._

 _Sherlock sat his pen down and folded his hands, "Let's talk about Mary, first," he said, very seriously._

 _He frowned, confused, "Sorry, what?"_

" _Oh, now, let's not be coy," Amelia smiled lightly at him, but her tone carried a slight edge to it. She thoughtfully opened up a notepad that she had laid out before her to the first page, looking back across to the man with an eyebrow raised, "You and Mary, you dated for two years? You broke up nine months before she meet John, correct?"_

" _Yeah, but that was ages ago," he said hastily, shaking his head, "We're…we're just good friends now"._

" _Is that a fact?" Sherlock scoffed very slightly, and unfolded his hands to slide the notepad over to him, looking down at the page, "Whenever she tweets, you respond within five minutes, regardless of time or current location, suggesting you have her on text alert"._

" _Oh, and this is one of the most telling things," Amelia commented, smirking very slightly as she leaned over towards Sherlock to see the page, David's eyes widening, "On Mary's Facebook page, whenever she posts a new picture of herself and John, you only ever like or comment on the ones in which Mary is centre frame and John is either partly or completely excluded from the picture," she looked back up to David's face, tutting, "Very telling, indeed"._

 _David shifted uneasily and tried to laugh it off, shaking his head, "You can't assume from that that I've still got some kind of…interest in Mary," he said nervously._

 _Sherlock didn't even bother to glance down at their notes, his eyes fixed steadily on the man, "You volunteered to be a shoulder to cry on no less than three separate occasions," he glanced across to Amelia, "Amelia, you are better at emotional deductions then I am, what is your professional opinion?"_

 _Amelia didn't take her eyes off David's, who was starting to look a little warm, "He's as guilty as hell, Holmes"._

 _The corner of his mouth twitched, "As I thought," he turned back to David, "Do you have anything to say in your defence?" David opened and closed his mouth for a moment, looking as if he was thinking very quickly. Sherlock picked up the pen, scribbling a note in the notepad, "I think, from now on, we'll downgrade you to 'casual acquaintance,'" he remarked, sitting the pen back down and looking back across to the rather stunned looking man._

" _Yes, I think that sounds adequate," Amelia agreed, her tone very light and pleasant. They could have been chatting about how sunny it had been lately and she wouldn't have sounded any different, "I would say that at least three planned social events during a year would be best," she went on thoughtfully, looking directly at David, "Birthday's and that sort of thing, but I think that it would be best that John be there at all times. We wouldn't like for you to do anything untoward in a moment of passion…" she gave him a pointed look, sighing, "Unrequited love does tend to lead people to do the silliest things in the moment"._

 _Sherlock clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on the edge of the table as he looked back at David, "We have your contact details," he told him, his expression intent, "We will be monitoring"._

 _David stared back at them, his eyes wide, "They're right about you two," he said slowly, looking a little horrified, "You're bloody psychopaths"._

" _Well, that's a new one for me," Amelia commented, mildly surprised and unimpressed by the rather unimaginative response, "I am not a psychopath, that was my brother," she sighed, shaking her head at him, "Do get your facts right"._

" _I am the high-functioning sociopath…" Sherlock corrected calmly, ignoring the small roll of Amelia's eyes at that. She still didn't believe his self diagnosis, "With your number," he broke into a wide, slightly scary smile before almost just as quickly dropping it, looking coolly back across the table to David as he pressed his fingers together and brought them to rest beneath his chin._

 _David looked away from them, looking rather lost and confused as to what to do as he glanced back up at them briefly. He released a nervous breathe and climbed onto his feet, very nearly jogging out of the room to get away from them. Sherlock picked up the Sudokube and placed it back to where it was before it had been moved._

" _Well," Amelia said softly, a small smile on her face as she looked at Sherlock, "That went well"._

…..… _ **Present**_ …..…..….

"Yes," Amelia smiled at David, admiring the way that the light made the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead even more obvious, "I remember our last meeting _very_ well".

David went to say something, but whatever it was it ended up came out completely unintelligible and he quickly closed his mouth, nervously looking away from Sherlock and Amelia. He glanced back over to Mary and gave her a little smile and awkward wave, before hurrying off inside the reception hall. John frowned and looked curiously at Amelia and Sherlock, but neither of them even looked at him, they even appeared to be trying hard not to smile.

"Hello!" Mary said happily as another guest approached them, the two exchanging a brief conversation before the guest moved on into the building. A second guest stepped up to Mary, a curly haired woman that was wearing a black and white polka dot dress. Mary smiled brightly and kissed the woman's cheek, "Pleased to see you," she said to her.

The woman smiled and moved to kiss John's cheek and pull him into a hug, "Congratulations," she told him, pulling away.

"Thanks for coming," John nodded to her, "Thank you".

Mary smiled and began to lean down to greet little Archie as he stood a few steps back from the woman, the two sharing the same curly brown hair, clearly his mother, "Hello, Archie!" she began.

Archie had other ideas, however, and the moment that he caught sight of Sherlock and Amelia, he completely ignored Mary and passed by John to throw himself at Sherlock, wrapping his arms tightly around Sherlock's waist and hugging him, smiling happily. Sherlock grunted in surprise by the impact of the seven year old throwing himself at him and blinked, staring down at the boy's curly head. Amelia laughed, finding the scene adorable.

"Mm, yes," Sherlock muttered awkwardly, looking down at the boy, "Um…well done in the service, Archie," he lightly pattered his back.

"Yes," Amelia nodded, moving to crouch down so that she was eye level with the boy, giving him a pointed look, "You made us all very proud".

The woman in the dress, Archie's mother, smiled slightly as she watched, "He's really come out of his shell," she commented, glancing back to Sherlock and Amelia, who straightened, "I don't know _how_ you two did it".

Sherlock and Amelia both looked at each, a look of mild panic crossing their faces, "Um…"

"Ah…" Amelia trailed off, licking her lips nervously.

…..….. _ **Two weeks ago**_ …..…..…

 _Sherlock sat in his armchair in the living room of Baker Street, Amelia sitting on the armrest beside him as they both looked across to where young Archie was sitting in John's old chair. Silence filled the room as they simply stared at each other, when Sherlock drew in a large breath._

" _Basically, it's a cute smile to the bride's side," he told the boy, speaking fast, "Cute smile to the groom's side and then the rings"._

" _No," the boy said at once, not even blinking. Amelia smiled faintly, casting Sherlock a quick look. Was this what a younger Sherlock Holmes had been like?_

" _And you have to wear the outfit"._

" _No"._

" _You really do have to wear the outfit"._

" _What for?" he asked, frowning._

 _Sherlock shrugged, "Grown-ups like that sort of thing"._

" _Why?"_

 _He paused, considering it briefly before shaking his head, "I don't know. I'll ask one," he looked up to Amelia and raised his eyebrows at her as she glanced back to him, "Amelia?"_

 _Amelia opened her mouth, but stopped herself, frowning thoughtfully, "Well…" she said slowly, glancing back to Archie, who was looking at her curiously, "It's just what you have to do when you go to a wedding, I suppose. You have to get dressed up and look nice because it's…respectful to the bride and groom," she bit her lip, trying hard to think of how on Earth she was meant to answer a question like that one. She gave the boy a slightly strained smile, leaning towards him, "Sometimes, you have to do things that you might not like and getting dressed up to go to a wedding is just one of those things that you have to do. No one really knows why you do it," she admitted, seeing no reason to try and complicated matters by going into details, "It's just what everyone does and so you have to do it too. It's a bit like wearing a school uniform, no one really likes them but you still have to wear one every day, right?" the boy nodded slowly, seeming to be listening closely with real interest. She smiled, "Well, that's why people get dressed up; it's their form of a school uniform"._

" _I think I understand," Archie said after a moment, frowning a little bit. He looked thoughtfully between the two of them for a moment, "You are detectives?"_

" _Yep," Sherlock replied, popping the 'P' loudly._

" _That we are," Amelia agreed with a small smile._

" _Have you solved any murders?"_

" _Sure," Sherlock nodded as Amelia blinked, a little surprised by his interest, and at such a young age, "Loads"._

 _Archie hesitated slightly, "Can I see?" he asked after a moment, looking hopeful._

 _Sherlock didn't even blink, "Yeah, all right"._

 _Amelia quickly grabbed his arm before he could even begin to rise, giving Archie a quick little smile, "Just give us a tick," she told him, before turning back to focus on Sherlock, who was looking at her in confusion. She leaned closer towards him, lowering her voice, "Sherlock, are you insane?" she hissed, staring at him, "He's seven years old! You can't show him something like that"._

" _Why not?" he whispered calmly, not seeming to be the slightest bit bothered. He raised his eyebrows at her, "How old were you when you first saw a murder victim?"_

 _She blinked, a little taken aback by that, "In person, ten," she sighed, some of her outrage over the idea fading now, "In a photograph, five," he gave her a pointed look, making her close her eyes briefly, realising that he had made a rather good point and that she had pretty much lost all creditability to be able to argue any further, "Okay, fine, show him," she muttered flatly, her shoulders slumping slightly, before growing stern again and pointing a finger in his chest, some of the fight returning, "But nothing graphic or gruesome. Oh, and if his mother finds out, I'm blaming this entirely on you"._

 _Sherlock smiled and happily stood, walking over to where his laptop was already set up on the dining table. He took a seat as Archie and Amelia followed, gathering around him as he brought up several different pictures. Amelia's eyes widened in horror at the ones he had decided to show a seven year old. They were very far from being the slightest bit kid friendly in her eyes, very far indeed._

" _Oh, God," she breathed, unable to take her eyes off the screen. Oh, what had she allowed to happen? She should never ever be allowed anywhere near children if this was the type of thing she allowed to happen, and John had trusted her to keep Sherlock in check, "Sherlock, you and I need to have a very serious conversation about what the definition of 'gruesome' means," she murmured, closing her eyes tightly._

 _Archie wasn't the slightest bit worried, actually, he seemed to be quite curious and after a moment, he leaned in closer towards the screen to take a better look at one of the more gruesome pictures that had been shown thus far, "What's all the stuff in his eye?" he asked, more curious then disgusted._

 _Amelia opened her eyes to blink at the boy, rather shocked that he wasn't traumatised, not the slightest bit. Dear God, did they have another Sherlock Holmes in the making here? He certainly had the right hair for it, but it did greatly relieve her that maybe she hadn't made a mistake, after all. Who knew, maybe this would end up making Archie want to be a detective or police officer one day, she wasn't going to complain about that._

" _Maggots," Sherlock informed him._

" _Cool!" he exclaimed, eagerly looking at the next picture._

 _Sherlock glanced at him and hummed in agreement, before glancing back up to Amelia with a pointed, slightly smug look. She sighed and shook her head at him, feeling a bit more relaxed now. After all, what Archie's mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her, right?_

… _ **Present**_ …

"…well," Amelia continued, swallowing nervously as she glanced hurriedly at Sherlock, but he looked just as clueless as she did as to what to say to Archie's mother, "We…just had a little chat, that's all," she finally said, hoping her voice didn't sound a bit too high and false. John and Mary were giving both her and Sherlock a suspicious look.

Thankfully, the mother didn't seem to notice, casting her son a fond look as he continued to hug Sherlock's legs, "He said you had some pictures for him, as a treat," she looked expectantly to Sherlock.

"Er, yes…" Sherlock nodded, looking a little unsure of what to do or say. He awkwardly pattered Archie's head, "If he's good".

Archie looked back up to his mother, smiling, "Beheadings," he told her happily, making Amelia close her eyes tightly and John blink slightly, convinced he had misheard…or so he desperately hoped.

"Lovely little village," Sherlock said quickly, trying to cover it up.

"Yes," Amelia nodded, clearing her throat as Sherlock began to pull Archie from his legs, lightly nudging him on towards the door, "Very nice and practically unheard of. Has very nice scenery," she lied, throwing Sherlock a dark look.

Archie's mother frowned slightly, glancing back up to them in confusion, "Hmm?" she hurried after her son, leaning down closer to him as they entered the room, "What did you say?"

Amelia fixed a smile onto her face and leaned closer to Sherlock as another guest approached Mary, "Nice save," she muttered to him.

He cleared his throat, shifting a little on the spot, "Thank you".

John sighed heavily and shot them both a quick glare, practically insuring that they would be questioned and lectured later about this.

….

At long last all the guests had been greeted and Sherlock and Amelia found themselves standing inside the reception hall, the room full of people talking and chatting away as the photographer made his way around, snapping casual pictures of people. Amelia popped a small canapé into her mouth from off a passing waiter's plate, feeling half starved after only having had two pieces of toast with strawberry jam on it that morning. She had been tempted to take a glass of champagne, but she wouldn't dare on an empty stomach and, besides, she wasn't overly fond of drinking after last time. Janine was standing on the other side of Amelia, eyeing the waiter as he passed by them to continue his rounds with the tray.

" _He's_ nice," Janine remarked, watching him go rather eagerly.

Sherlock sniffed the air deeply, "Traces of _two_ leading brands of deodorant," he told her as Amelia nodded, though she was a bit too busy chewing to do much more, "Both advertised for their strength, suggestive of a chronic body odour problem manifesting under stress".

"Okay, done there," she pulled a slight face, her eyes moving to rest on someone else, "What about his friend?"

Sherlock and Amelia followed her gaze to see her looking into the kitchen where another waiter was carefully pulling a skewer from the middle of a rolled joint of roast beef with a teacloth wrapped around the skewer. Amelia frowned very slightly, watching the display curiously, feeling like there was something at the back of mind, a nagging sensation that she just couldn't seem to shake.

He turned back to Janine, "Long term relationship, compulsive cheat," he replied.

"Yes, I really wouldn't advice him," Amelia agreed, her eyes already scanning around for more canapés. This was the worst part about weddings, the waiting around for dinner to be served.

"Seriously?" Janine sighed, throwing them both a quick, disappointed look.

"It's all in the phone," the brunet said with a small shrug, looking back to her, already having picked up on all the clues, "For most people, their phones are their lives," she tried hard not to think of Adler as she went on, "You can read just about everything about a person from their phone".

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed in agreement, glancing back over to the waiter, "Waterproof cover on his smartphone, yet his complexion doesn't indicate outdoor work. Suggests he's in the habit of taking his phone into the shower with him, which means he often receives texts and emails he'd rather went unseen".

Janine looked back up to them, smiling playfully, "Can I keep you two?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Do you like solving crimes?"

"Do you have a vacancy?"

Amelia winced slightly as she noticed Sherlock's eyes flickering over towards where John was standing beside Mary, and sighed, "Goodness," she tried to laugh it off, placing a comforting hand on Sherlock's arm, giving him a quick, gentle look to let him know that she knew what he was thinking, "I don't think Baker Street could handle two Irish brunets running about, let alone Holmes, here".

Janine laughed, not seeming to notice anything, "Probably right about that," she grinned, giving Amelia a little wink before turning and strolling off into the crowd, sipping from her glass of champagne as she went.

The moment the other brunet was gone, Amelia turned back to Sherlock and gave him a comforting look, half wishing that she could hug him, but she wasn't entirely sure if he would really be comforted by that in the middle of such a crowded room. He had made progress in that department, but she was still very mindful of how new he was to romance, "Don't do it to yourself, Sherlock," she said softly, giving him a firm look, "John is our friend, he's not just going to leave us because he's married now, it just means that we have to be more patient and understanding at times. So please, stop fretting about it".

"I'm not fretting," he said at once, making a slight face at the implication.

She scoffed and gave him a teasing look, "You _so_ are".

"I am _not_ ".

"Sherlock, I had a twin brother who was madder then the Mad Hatter, I can do this all day".

He sighed heavily, turning himself so that he was closer to her, frowning very slightly, "You really believe that nothing will change?" he asked, very quietly.

"Yes, I do," she said at once, smiling, and she very slowly reached up to cup his cheek, giving him every chance to move if he wanted to, but he didn't. Her smile widened at that, "And you know what else? I do believe you have progressed to hand holding in public," she said with a slight teasing tone.

"Amelia…"

"Sherlock," she mimicked his mildly annoyed tone, grinning cheekily at him when he rolled his eyes in exasperation, but there was fondness there, too, "Twin brother, remember? I can do this _all_ day".

"He came!" John's voice suddenly sounded, making them both blink and look over towards him, only to find him staring across the room to where a man in an military uniform had just stepped into the door, his face badly scarred, like it had been burned quite some time ago and his left hand looked like it was being held a little funny to his chest, the skin of it looking scarred, too.

"That's…" Amelia trailed off, breaking into a broad smile. It wasn't hard to work out just who the man was; she remembered how convinced John had been that he would turn up. She took Sherlock's hand and began to pull him along with her, Sherlock letting her, and came to a stop beside Mary, who was smiling happily as the three of them watched on as John saluted the man and began speaking quietly to each other.

"So that's him," Sherlock remarked with a hint of disproving in his tone, making Mary glance at them, but he was busy studying the uniformed man carefully, "Major Shotlo".

"Uh-huh," Mary nodded, eagerly turning back to watch John and Shotlo speak to each other.

He narrowed his eyes slightly as Amelia glanced at him, a small smile crossing her face, "If they're such good friends, why does he barely mention him?" he asked with a frown.

"He mentions him all the time to me. He never shuts up about him".

He blinked, his frown deepening, "About _him_?"

Amelia laughed, finding it highly amusing to see Sherlock actually getting jealous over something like this. Of course, he would deny it if she said anything, but she knew better and it was rather sweet, actually, that he was a little upset about the fact that John had past friends. Not that she could say she was really surprised about that, he did get a bit twitchy and tended to try and cut in when a conversation began to move into _her_ past relationships with men.

"Mm-hmm," Mary hummed, a small smile crossing her face as she briefly glanced at Amelia. She lifted her wine glass of white wine up to her mouth and took a sip, only to grimace as she forced herself to swallow, "Urgh," she lowered the glass, looking down at it in disgust as Amelia raised an eyebrow at her in surprise, "I chose this wine. It's bloody awful".

"I remember, I was there," Amelia said with a small frown, eyeing her thoughtfully. Mary had loved the wine when they had gone to the tasting, she had even considered getting a small case of it to stick away at home, someone's taste didn't just change overnight, not unless…she blinked, a little startled as a thought occurred to her. How had she not picked up on it sooner? It had to be, the signs had been there for at least the last two weeks. She was such an idiot for not picking up on it before, it was going take all of her willpower not to break into a broad smile and hug both Mary and John now.

Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off John and Sholto, hardly seeming to even be listening, "Yes, but it's definitely _him_ that he talks about?"

"Mmm," Mary confirmed absently, still eyeing her wine glass with disgust. Amelia bit her lip in attempt to keep her emotions in check, not wishing to reveal anything, though she really shouldn't to be drinking wine…

"I've never even heard him say his name," he muttered, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

"Well, he's almost a recluse," she told him, exchanging a quick, knowing look with Amelia as she spoke, "You know, since…" she trailed off.

"Yes," he cut across her, knowing perfectly well what she was referring to and just how the man had been scarred so badly.

"It's nice of him to come," Amelia commented, glancing back over to John and Sholto, pleased to see how happy John looked as he spoke to his old friend, the other man looking a little stiff and uncomfortable, though that would be due to his lack of socialisation and military career, she imagined.

"Yes, I didn't think he'd show up at all," Mary agreed, looking back to Sherlock and Amelia, "John says he's the most unsociable man he's ever met," she looked directly at Sherlock, lifting her glass back up to her mouth

" _He_ is?" Sherlock half exclaimed, almost looking outraged by the suggestion, " _He's_ the most unsociable?" Mary hummed in confirmation and lowered her glass, both woman smirking very slightly at him as he turned to narrow his eyes back over to John and Sholto, "Ah, _that's_ why he's bouncing round him like a puppy".

Mary grinned as Amelia laughed, shaking her head fondly at him as she lightly pattered Sherlock's arm sympathetically, though her laughter did ruin it a bit. She just couldn't help it, seeing Sherlock getting so workup over this was just too funny and sweet.

"Oh, Sherlock," Mary shook her head, amused, "Neither of us were the first, you know".

Sherlock frowned and looked back to the two women, finding them both grinning at him, both apparently having figured out why he was so annoyed, "Stop smiling," he told them, exasperated and a little embarrassed.

"It's my wedding day!"

He huffed and rolled his eyes, looking away from them both. Amelia smiled broadly and pattered his arm again, before slipping her hand down his arm to entwine her fingers with his, "Come along, Holmes," she said lightly, seeing that he was in need of rescuing right now, tugging him away from Mary, "Let's go find something to eat, take you mind off it".

Marry smirked, watching them walk away, Amelia sending her a quick wink over her shoulder when Sherlock wasn't looking. Poor Sherlock, if he thought that Amelia had been bad enough to deal with in the past, she and Mary working together was even worse. She shook her head fondly and turned back to watch John and Sholto speak, lifting her glance to sip her wine again, only to pull another disgusted face and force the horribly bitter liquid down her throat. Maybe water would be a wiser idea from now on.

…

Dinner was finally served, much to Amelia's great relief as she practically inhaled the first course without even really tasting it due to being so hungry, though by the time the main and dessert had arrived, she had thankfully slowed down enough to be able to properly enjoy the very nicely cooked roast beef and chocolate covered profiteroles that, even though she had well and truly began to struggle to be able to fit in, she had still polished off.

As a member of the wedding party meant that she got to sit up at the head table, right beside Sherlock on his left side with Jeanine sitting right beside her, while John was sitting in the middle of the table on Sherlock's right side. Sherlock had been rather quiet throughout most of the meal, even when Amelia had tried to engage him in conversation he was still rather quiet, his eyes seeming to be scanning the room. She could tell that he was nervous, he had even phoned Mycroft and, from what little she had overheard once she had returned from the bathroom, he had even tried to persuade his brother into attending the wedding. She picked up her champagne glass and took a sip of it as she casually reached beneath the table to place her hand on his knee, instantly making his leg still since he had been nervously bouncing it.

Sherlock's head snapped back around to look at her, earning a questioning eyebrow raised look from her, "I'm fine, Amelia," he murmured, already knowing what she was silently asking.

The corner of her mouth rose, lowering her glass from her lips, leaving behind a trace of her lipstick around the brim, "You do realise that I never believe you when you say that," she whispered back, not wishing for the whole table to know. She even lend herself slightly closer to him as she eyed him carefully, "You're nervous".

"No, I'm not".

"Yes, you are, _William_ ," she said sternly, making him narrow his eyes at the use of his proper first name, and in _public_ , "It's going to be okay," she went on, her face softening as she lightly squeezed his knee beneath the table, not wishing to make it obvious that she was trying to comfort him, "The best man speech isn't meant to be taken too seriously, it's just meant to be funny with a few sweet things to say about the groom and possibly his bride".

He looked away from her, his expression growing distant, "I've…" he hesitated, his voice even softer than before, so much so that Amelia had to strain to hear what he was saying over the din of the rest of the room. He licked his lips and turned back to her, "I've never had to do a speech before…in front of people".

"Don't over think it," she advised him, "Don't look at one spot, just let your eyes roam around above everyone's heads, that way it looks like you are actually looking at people and not just focusing past them," she gave him a soft smile, "And remember, I'm here. If it becomes too overwhelming, I'm _right here_ and I'll help you, you only need to ask".

She watched as he took a deep breath and his briefly closed his eyes, looking a little calmer then he had before. She bit her lower lip, considering whether or not she should bring it up, the thing that she had overheard Mycroft say when they had been speaking on the phone, but she thought better of it. Redbeard clearly had some sort of affect on Sherlock, one that seemed to actually rattle him slightly, so she would wait to ask about it until later. Right now, Sherlock needed to focus and she needed to be there to reassure him and calm him.

There was a ding of a spoon being tapped against a champagne glass, the noise echoing throughout the room and making everyone fall silent. The Master of Ceremonies stood before the front of the room, "Pray silence for the best man," he called throughout the room, gesturing to the top table.

 _ **And we're officially onto the Sign of Three! I've loved writing for this episode and it feels so weird writing Sherlock and Amelia as a couple, but I'm having great fun toying with these two in this different light.**_

 _ **Next chapter, what does Amelia threaten to tattoo onto Sherlock's hand? Sherlock's brain seems to have crashed and John and Mary are a little worried about their choice to pick Sherlock as the best man. As always, Amelia's wedding outfit will be on my Tumblr and profile. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_

 _ **Guest reviews:**_

 _ **Guest:**_ _ **I really hope you've liked the start of the episode and I know how you feel, I was so excited to start writing these chapters. I just love writing Amelia flirting with Sherlock and being affectionate towards him, while poor Sherlock's a bit awkward and unsure of for the review :)**_


	10. Chapter 10 The Sign of Three, Part 2

_**The Sign of Three, Part 2**_

All the guests began to cheer and applaud as Amelia gave Sherlock one last encouraging smile and removed her hand from his knee, clapping along with everyone else. He sighed heavily and slowly rose onto his feet, buttoning his morning coat as the noise began to die down, everyone looking at him expectantly. He shifted a little uncomfortably with all those eyes fixed directly on him, waiting.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice clearly heard throughout the entire room, "Family and friends, and…er…others," he paused, blinking as an awkward silence settled over the room. Amelia bit her lip, feeling nervous _for_ him, "Er…w…a-a-also…"

People began to shift awkwardly in their chairs around the room; their smiles becoming rather fixed as Sherlock seemed to freeze, looking quite pale. Amelia clasped hands together tightly in her lap, resisting reaching out and taking Sherlock's hand, desperately trying to think, when it hit her. Molly had been worried for weeks leading up to the wedding and even before John had asked Sherlock to be his best man, that Sherlock would freeze under the pressure of speaking before such a large room of people, most complete strangers to him. She had even spoken to Lestrade in person and called both Amelia and Mrs Hudson to express her concern for Sherlock.

Amelia broke into a relieved smile, knowing what to do, and quickly stood and leaned closer to him, "Use the telegrams," she whispered to him, knowing that he just needed a starting point and once he had began talking, he would be fine.

Sherlock gave a funny little jolt and blinked back at her, comprehension dawning on his face, "Right, um…" he starting patting down his pockets as Amelia sat back down. She cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her, and nodding to where the telegrams were already sitting in a small pile in front of him. John smiled faintly, glancing around Sherlock's back to exchange a look with Amelia as Sherlock awkwardly reached out to the pile and looked back up to the room, clearing his throat nervously, "First things first. The telegrams," he picked up the pile, holding it up for the guests to see, before frowning slightly, "Well, they're not actually telegrams," he continued quickly, some of the nerves seeming to fade, "We just _call_ them telegrams. I don't know why. Wedding tradition…" he lifted up the first card from the pile, lowering his voice slightly, growing sarcastic, "…because we don't have enough of that already, apparently".

John narrowed his eyes, shooting him a quick look as Amelia turned her head away from the room and covered her mouth, like she was coughing, "Behave, Holmes," she muttered to him.

He sighed and glanced back to her, before turning back to the card in his hand, "'To Mr and Mrs Watson,'" he read aloud to the room, looking back over to Mary and John, "'So sorry I'm unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford'".

"Ah, Mike," John smiled, pleased.

"Ahh!" Mary said happily at the same time.

Sherlock flipped to the next card, "'To John and Mary," he read, "'All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big…'" he broke off, shifting a little uncomfortably as Amelia raised an eyebrow, listening as he went on slowly, "'…big squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted,'" he looked back up and blinked rapidly for a moment, trying hard to ignore the suspicious cough that came from Amelia's direction. He flipped to the next card; looking down to read it, "'Mary, lot's of love…" he trailed off, making John, Mary, and Amelia look back up to him in confusion.

"Yeah?" John asked, urging him to continue.

He worked his mouth for a moment, almost as if he wasn't even sure how to form the word, "'…poppet,'" he finally got out, popping the 'T' at the end of the word, making Amelia, John, and Mary laugh quietly together, "'…oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from CAM,'" he continued, and Mary's smile slipped off her face, looking like she had just seen a ghost, "'Wish your family could have seen this'".

John looked at Mary and frowned, noticing her almost fearful expression, "Hey," he reached out, coving her hand as it sat on the table, looking at her in concern, "Hmm?"

Mary blinked slightly and looked back to him, forcing a reassuring smile onto her face as she nodded to him. Amelia frowned as she eyed Mary carefully, finding her reaction to be very telling and curious. Sure, the message had spoken of a no doubt painful subject for Mary to be thinking of on the day of her marriage, but it certainly shouldn't have caused her to react so…well, fearfully. But what had really caught her attention was the fact that she hadn't reacted that way until she had heard the name of the person who had sent it. An old friend? Or something else, something more sinister judging by her reaction? Or was she just over reacting given her own history with her brother? She really couldn't tell, but it did give her something to think about later.

"Um…" Sherlock turned to the next card, not seeming to even be paying much attention to what was going on around him, "'Special day…'" he muttered quickly, dropping the card onto the table and moving onto the next one, "'Very special day…'" he dropped that one too and began to rapidly do the same to the rest of the cards, "'Love'… 'love'… 'love'… 'love'… 'lo…,'" he dropped the rest of the cards and looked back up to the room, "Bit of a theme, you get the general gist," he said as John frowned slightly at him, "People are basically _fond_ ".

The guests laughed slightly at that and Amelia smiled, giving Sherlock a reassuring nod as he briefly glanced back to her. Without the relative safety net of being able to simply read the telegrams, Sherlock was actually going to have to speak to the room with his own words. She could tell that while he might have been a bit more comfortable now, that he was still quite nervous and uncertain of exactly what to do and say. He didn't want to embarrass himself or ruin John and Mary's wedding, she could understand that very well.

He turned back to face the room as the laughter died down, "John Watson," he began, gesturing to John beside him, "My friend, John Watson," he paused, looking down for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts as John smiled slightly. After a moment, he looked back to John, "John…" he said, turning back to the rest of the room, "When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused…"

"That's one word for it," Amelia muttered to herself, amused as she thought back to that day.

….. _ **Flashback**_ …..…

 _It was ordinary morning on Baker Street for Sherlock and Amelia, the two detectives standing in the kitchen while Sherlock conducted one of his little experiments that involved using a blowtorch on a human eyeball that he was holding with a pair of tweezers, the blowtorch coming quite close to the dangling optic nerve still attached to the eye. Amelia was standing by the kitchen counter close by, a pair of large safety glasses protecting her eyes while she finished preparing their tea. She frowned slightly as a funny noise echoed up the stairs, sounding almost as if Mrs Hudson had just stepped on a cat, either that or she was simply laughing hysterically over something. Who would know?_

" _Here's your tea, Holmes," she smiled brightly as she picked up the tea cups and moved to carefully place Sherlock's cup on the table near to where he was working, grateful when he switched off the blowtorch in order for her to safely move close to him. She took the chance to quickly kiss his cheek, ignoring the eye he was still holding and the safety glasses he also had shielding his eyes._

" _Ah, thank you," he said a little absently, his eyes still fixed on the eye with a thoughtful expression._

 _She moved to take a seat on the chair at the end of the table, near the fridge, and casually crossed her legs as she curiously watched him work, carefully sipping her slightly too hot tea. They had been dating for a little over three months now and it was still a little surprising to her that it seemed to come so naturally to her to be affectionate towards him. Typically, she would always kiss his cheek when she was going out or coming home, and, unless she was cross with him over something, she would make sure to give him a quick goodnight kiss before heading upstairs to her room. It had been a habit that she had very easily fallen into almost as soon as they had began dating, but she was also a little surprised by how Sherlock had taken to it. At first, he had rolled his eyes and called her a sentimentalist, but she could tell that he had grown to quite enjoy the simple form of affection of a kiss on the cheek, he didn't even seem to object to her doing it if someone like Mrs Hudson or John was around. Once or twice he had even surprised her by doing it if he had been out somewhere without her, which didn't happen often. He spent most of his time around the flat unless there was a case, and even then they would still be together._

" _Sherlock?" John's voice carried up the stairs outside the kitchen door, followed by the noise of his footsteps, "Amelia?"_

" _Kitchen!" Amelia called to him, sitting her tea cup down amongst the clutter that already littered the table from Sherlock's chemistry set._

 _Sherlock frowned, activating the blowtorch, causing a burst of flame to spurt from it as he moved it closer to the optic nerve, "What was that nose downstairs?" he asked._

 _John stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, blinking a little bit as he caught sight of what he was doing, not that it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, "Er, it was Mrs Hudson laughing," he informed them._

" _Something tickled her," Amelia said, shaking her head in amusement. She couldn't remember the last time she heard Mrs Hudson laugh so hard or for so long._

" _Sounded like she was torturing an owl," Sherlock remarked, the corner of his moth twitching as he glanced back across to Amelia._

" _Yeah, "John nodded, smiling faintly, "Well, it was laughter"._

" _Could have been both"._

 _Amelia rolled her eyes, throwing him a look as she picked up her tea cup, again, "I don't think Mrs Hudson goes around torturing owls, Sherlock"._

 _John cleared his throat slightly, eyeing the blowtorch and eyeball Sherlock was still holding, "Busy?" he questioned, pointing to him._

 _Sherlock sighed heavily, "Just occupying myself," he replied, before closing his eyes and rather dramatically tilting his head back, "Sometimes, it's so hard not smoking…" the eyeball slipped out of the tweezers, dropping into his teacup, splashing the liquid over the rim of the cup. He blinked and looked down at it, a bit disappointed, "Oh"._

" _Well, that was clever," Amelia smirked slightly, craning her neck slightly to get a look of the eyeball floating in the cup of tea. She probably ought to have felt a little annoyed that she had gone to all the effort to make him tea only for him to drop an eyeball in it, but she really couldn't bring herself to be. It was Sherlock; after all, she probably wouldn't even be overly surprised if he still drank it, though she would very seriously have to consider whether or not she would still be willing to kiss him after that._

" _Um, mind if I interrupt?" John asked, his eyes flickering between the two of them._

 _He put the tweezers down on the table, "Er, be my guest," he gestured over to the chair at the end of the table, opposite from Amelia. He switched off the blowtorch and put it down as Amelia slipped off her safety glasses, sitting them down by her almost empty teacup. Sherlock picked up his own cup, looking back up to John as he moved to sit down, "Tea?" he offered, grinning slightly._

" _Er…"_

" _I'll make you a cup, if I would like?" Amelia uncrossed her legs and began to rise, "The kettles just boiled…"_

" _No, it's fine," John shook his head, giving her a small, grateful smile. He settled himself down on the chair as she returned his smile and sat back down. He turned to look back to Sherlock, who had sat his cup back on the table and removed his safety glasses, "So…" he began, clearing his throat slightly, "The big question"._

" _Mm-hm," Sherlock hummed, looking back to him._

 _He folded his hands together on the table top before him, looking back up to him, "The best man"._

" _The best man?" he repeated, and Amelia broke into a broad, delighted smile, knowing what he was about to ask. She had known this would be coming and she couldn't wait to see how Sherlock would react._

" _What do you think?"_

" _Billy Kincaid," he answered at once._

 _John and Amelia both blinked, staring at him in confusion, the brunet actually looking a little startled._

" _Sorry, what?" John asked, shaking his head, sure he had misheard._

" _Sherlock…" Amelia said slowly, eyeing him strangely. She recognised the name from the papers from years ago, back when she was in her final year of uni, "Wasn't Billy Kincaid…a murderer?"_

" _You're hardly one to judge with your twin brother being a terrorist, Amelia," Sherlock told her with a hint of disapproving in his tone. She raised her eyebrows at him, looking as if she was biting her lip to stop herself from saying something back as he turned to John, "Billy Kincaid, the Camden Garrotter," he explained to him as he simply stared at him, "Best man I ever knew. Vast contributions to charity, never disclosed," John frowned, glancing at Amelia, who simply shook her head and looked back to listen to Sherlock as he went on, "Personally managed to save three hospitals from closure and ran the best and safest children's homes in north England," he grimaced briefly as John sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "Yes, every now and again there'd be some garrottings, but stacking up the lives saved against the garrottings, on balance I'd say…"_

" _For my wedding!" John interrupted him, trying hard to keep his frustration out of his voice, looking back up to him, "For me. I need a best man. Amelia is going to be my groom's woman and…"_

" _Oh, right," he nodded, still not seeming to catch on._

 _Amelia smiled faintly, looking and back and forth between the pair. She had been delightfully surprised and happy when John had asked her if she would be his groom's woman, it was quite a modern change but John and Mary had insisted that they wanted her to be a part of the wedding, and they had both agreed that since Amelia was John's friend well before Mary's, that it would be more logical for her to be a part of the groom's party then the bride's. Amelia had been very honoured to be asked and had accepted straight away._

 _John smiled slightly, glancing back across to Amelia, "Maybe not a garrotter," he commented, looking back to Sherlock._

" _Yes, probably wise," Amelia laughed, nodding._

" _Gavin?" Sherlock suggested, frowning slightly._

 _He looked at him for a moment, sighing, "Who?"_

" _Gavin Lestrade? He's a man…and good at it"._

 _Amelia sighed, closing her eyes briefly in exasperation, "Sherlock, it's Greg," she told him, "I swear, I'm going to tattoo that bloody name on the back of your hand…" she trailed off, muttering to herself as she shook her head._

" _And he's not my best friend," John added, looking straight at Sherlock with a small smile, trying to get it through to him._

" _Oh, Mike Stamford, I see," Sherlock said, still completely clueless, nodding slowly, "Well, he's nice, um, though I'm not sure how well he'd cope with all…"_

" _No, Mike's great," he cut across him, "But he's not my best friend," he stared up at him, waiting expectantly as Sherlock frowned thoughtfully, seeming to be trying to figure out what other friend he might have. Amelia groaned beneath her breath and covered her face, "Look, Sherlock," he continued, "This is the biggest and most important day of my life…"_

" _Well…" he dragged out the word, looking away dubiously._

" _No, it is!" he insisted, pointing a stern finger at him, "It is, and I want to be up there with the three people that I love and care about most in the world"._

" _Oh, John," Amelia breathed, quite shocked and touched to hear him actually say that out loud. She knew, of course, how much John cared for both her and Sherlock, she felt the same way, but they had never actually expressed it to each other like that before. It made her feel very lucky to have a friendship like John's, especially after all that they had been through together._

 _Sherlock was still completely oblivious, simply looking blankly at John, "Yes," he said, not comprehending that he was referring to him, too._

 _John nodded, waiting for a moment, but Sherlock didn't say a word, so he tried a different approach, "Mary Morstan and Amelia…" he tried to promote, gesturing pointedly across the table to Amelia._

" _Yes"._

 _He sighed, closing his eyes briefly, "And…" he looked back to him, trying to give him a moment for it to finally dawn on him what he was saying, but Sherlock simply looked at him blankly. He took a deep breath, "…you," he finished._

 _Sherlock blinked rapidly, his expression not changing in the slightest._

…. _ **Present**_ …..…..

"I confess, at first, I didn't realise he was asking me," Sherlock continued with his speech, speaking quite fast, "When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and…surprised".

Amelia looked back up to him, struggling to stop herself from laughing, recalling very vividly just how Sherlock had simply stared back to John, unblinking, looking like he had been turned to stone. Both she and John had only been able to watch him in growing confusion and alarm, neither of them quite knowing what to do. It had been the first time she had ever seen Sherlock speechless and she very dearly wished she had thought to film the moment.

"I explained to him that I'd never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it".

… _ **Flashback**_ …..…..

" _Sherlock?" John asked after a while, Sherlock still staring back at him, completely motionless._

" _Holmes?" Amelia said, concerned. She stood from her chair and stepped over to him, placing a hand onto his arm, "Are you okay?"_

 _Sherlock's head gave a small twitch in her direction, but he still barely seemed to even hear a word of what either of them said, not moving a muscle._

…. _ **Present**_ ….

"I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was, for me, as demanding and difficult as any, save for perhaps one other…" he looked pointedly back to Amelia, who smiled faintly and ducked her head as he looked back to the rest of the room, "I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he'd placed in me…"

John frowned, not recalling hearing any of this, whatsoever, at the time, and looked around Sherlock's back to catch Amelia's eye, seeing her struggling to keep herself from giggling. He was definitely missing something.

"And indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being…" he went on, hesitating slightly, "…moved by it".

….. _ **Flashback**_ ….

 _At least a full thirty seconds had passed and still, Sherlock hadn't moved or even blinked, the sound of the kitchen tap dripping echoing throughout the silent room._

" _That's getting a bit scary now," John remarked, breaking the silence as he shifted a little bit in his chair._

 _Amelia took Sherlock's hand, pressing her fingers against his wrist, checking his pulse, "Well, he's still alive," she said lightly, though even she was a little worried. She cast Sherlock a thoughtful look, "He's like a frozen computer; I can practically see the little spinning star on his forehead"._

….…..….. _ **Present**_ …..…..….

"It later transpired, according to Amelia," Sherlock gestured over to Amelia, who was still trying not to laugh, "That I said _none_ of this out loud".

John and Amelia, losing the battle, both burst out laughing as several of the guests joined in, Amelia thinking back with great amusement of that day.

….….….. _ **Flashback**_ …..…..…

 _Finally, Sherlock's brain seemed to slowly reboot itself and he took a deep breath, before swallowing and narrowing his eyes on John, "So, in fact…" he began, pausing for a moment to think, "You…you mean…" he blinked rapidly, stuttering._

" _Yes," John nodded patiently._

" _I'm your…" he hesitated, raising an eyebrow at John, who smiled very slightly and nodded to him again. Amelia squeezed his hand encouragingly, not having moved, "…best…"_

"… _man," John said at the same time as Sherlock finished with, "…friend?"_

 _John blinked at him for a moment, as if he couldn't believe he had even needed to ask, "Yeah, 'course you are," he told him, breaking into a small smile, "'Course you're my best friend. Both of you are," he nodded to Amelia, who smiled broadly._

 _Sherlock stared at him and absently reached over to the table with his free right arm, picking up his teacup and lifting it up to his mouth. Amelia and John watched him take a large sip, neither of them saying a word for a second as he swallowed his mouthful of tea._

" _Charming," Amelia commented lightly in mild disgust, pulling a face as she watched him lower the cup from his mouth._

 _John looked just as disgusted, eyeing him, "Well, how was that?"_

 _He actually licked his lips, considering it for a moment as he glanced back down to the cup, "Surprisingly okay," he informed them, nodding, "Amelia makes a good cuppa"._

 _Amelia gave him an amused look, just as the eyeball popped up to the surface of the tea, "Hmm, eyeball tea," she said, mock thoughtful, "Could be a new trend"._

" _Don't let the hipsters know about it," Sherlock warned with a small smile in her direction._

" _I dread to imagine," she laughed. Most people didn't seem to see that Sherlock did actually have a sense of humour, it was just quite dark and often sarcastic, something she could appreciate. Most of the time, anyway._

 _John cleared his throat, making them both look at him as he smiled faintly, "Getting back to the best man…" he reminded them, focusing on Sherlock, "You'll have to make a speech, of course"._

 _Sherlock's smile vanished and he looked away from them both, his expression growing distant again. Amelia smiled and pattered his back comfortingly. She'd help him, everything would be just fine._

….… _ **Present**_ ….

Sherlock reached into his inner jacket pocket, rifling through it for a moment. He cleared his throat a little awkwardly before finally locating what he was looking for and pulling out a handful of cue cards, sorting through them.

"Done that," he muttered, flipping to the next, "Done that…done that bit…done that bit…hmm…" he hummed to himself as he dropped the last card onto the table before him, looking back up to the guests, before glancing back to John, "I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you," he told him, making both John and Mary look up at him in surprise, glancing passed him to Amelia, but she had a small smile playing on her lips and simply nodded reassuringly to them.

"It's fine," she mouthed to them, giving them a little wink that made them both look slightly more relieved. She had spent weeks listening to Sherlock plan out his speech, he must have written ten different versions of the thing before asking her to pick out the bits that she liked the best and so she knew just how wonderful the speech was. John and Mary were going to love it; even she had gotten a little tearful and had to hug Sherlock when she had read over the final draft for the speech, though, she was a sentimentalist, as he liked to remind her quite often, with fondness, of course.

Sherlock turned back to the rest of the room, "All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold myself above all things," he said to the room, earning some slightly puzzled and confused looks, "A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world," most of the room had began to shift uncomfortably in their chairs, muttering quietly to each other, while Lestrade and Molly appeared to be quite horrified by what they were hearing, wondering why on Earth Amelia hadn't tried to stop him as he continued on with his speech, "Today we honour the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time, one feels certain, our entire species".

The room was filled with soft mutterings and people exchanging shocked looks with others at their tables, while others simply stared at Sherlock as if he had completely lost his mind.

"How can you say that when your dating Amelia?" John asked loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. He really did hope that someone had told Mr and Mrs Holmes not to get to excited about Amelia and Sherlock possibly getting married, judging by _this_.

"It's fine, John, honestly," Amelia shook her head, not the slightest bit concerned.

"Amelia and I have an understanding," Sherlock told him, ignoring the muttering of the rest of the room. He glanced at Amelia, who smiled very slightly at him, "She knows perfectly well my feelings on the subject of love. But anyway…" he turned back to the face room, trying to get back on track with the speech, looking back down at his cards, "Let's talk about John".

John sighed and settled back into his chair to listen, still not entirely such just what type of 'understanding' Sherlock and Amelia could possibly have, but whatever it was it seemed to work for them both.

He flipped to the next card, going on with the speech, "If I burden myself with a little help-mate during my adventures with Amelia," he held out a hand towards Amelia, who raised her eyebrows a little bit in surprise. She didn't recall herself being mentioned quite this much when she had last read the speech, he must have added it in while he was speaking, "It is not out of sentiment or caprice, it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me," he continued as Amelia hid her smile behind her champagne glass, taking a sip, "Indeed, any reputation I and Amelia have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selfless provides…"

John sighed heavily as Mary frowned, both looking as if they were very dearly regretting ever trusting Sherlock to deliver a best man speech. Amelia winced slightly, but she knew what was coming and how the speech would end, so she really couldn't bring herself to do or say anything. They would see soon enough, though she did kind of wish he hadn't mentioned her quite so much. That really hadn't been written in any draft she had seen, so he was making parts of it up as he went along to include her, it would seem. It was touching if a little embarrassing.

"It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favour exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day…" Sherlock said, very matter-of-fact as Janine blinked and slowly looked at him as the other bridesmaids at the other end of the table shifted a little awkwardly. Amelia's gave Janine a apologetic smile, "There is a certain analogy there, I feel," he flipped to the next card, ignoring everything going on around him, "And contrast is, after all, God's own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation…" the vicar smiled slightly from where he was sitting at one of the tables, "…or it _would_ be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity to the family idiot".

Amelia closed her eyes briefly, "This has to be a record for how many people someone can insult in one speech," she muttered to herself, very dearly hoping to move on. She cast the vicar a quick look to see him looking rather grim, frowning slightly as another muttering of conversation broke out amongst the guests. Poor Mary had even covered her face and John looked like he just wanted to disappear under the table.

"The point I'm _trying_ to make…" he said over the noise, shifting slightly on the spot, "Is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous…" he looked across to the vicar, "Ignorant of the beautiful…" he looked pointedly at Amelia, who could only smile broadly and duck her head, feeling her cheeks warming. He smiled faintly at her and glanced at Janine with a small, apologetic nod, "And uncomprehending the face of the happy…" he looked back over to John and Mary, the entire room falling silent to listen carefully, "So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend. Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest man I have ever had the good fortune of knowing".

Several people made 'aww' sound throughout the room as Mary smiled proudly at John, taking his hand. Amelia sniffed slightly, desperately trying to stop herself from growing tearful; it was even better hearing Sherlock actually giving the speech then just simply reading it.

"John," Sherlock glanced back over to him, "I am a ridiculous man, a statement that I am quite certain Amelia would attest to…"

"You have you moments," Amelia remarked fondly, giving him a watery smile and reaching up to use her finger to carefully wipe beneath her eyes, trying to avoid messing up her makeup.

He sent her a small smile and reached out to place his hand on her shoulder, which she reached up to covered with her own. He turned back to John, "And I am redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of both you and Amelia's friendship," he took a deep breath, "But, as I'm apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion," he paused and looked down for a moment as a few people frowned, a small smile crossing his face, "Actually, now I can," he looked back up and across to John and Mary, who were smiling happily, "Mary…" he focused on her, "When I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss…" he leaned towards him, "So sorry again about that last one…"

"From us both," Amelia added, nodding as she bit her lip guiltily.

"So know this," he continued, straightening as he looked back to John, "Today you sit between the woman that you have made your wife, the woman you have accepted and forgiven, and the man you have saved, in short, the three people who love you most in all this world. And I know that I speak for Mary and Amelia as well when I say we will _never_ let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that".

Amelia sniffed back tears, smiling so broadly that it actually hurt as all around the room, the guests looked quite close to tears themselves, and poor Mrs Hudson even had a tissue pressed against her nose. She somehow resisted the urge to jump up and hug Sherlock, but judging from the rather emotional expression on John's face as he spoke softly with Mary, she wasn't the only one who was feeling that very same urge.

Sherlock cleared his throat and flipped to the next card, "Ah, yes," he said as he saw what was written on it, not seeming to take the slightest bit of notice of what was happening around him, "Now on to some funny stories about John…" he trailed off as he looked up and finally realised what was going on, catching sight of half the people in the room wiping tears away or just straight out crying quietly, "What's wrong?" he asked urgently, alarmed, "What happened? Why are you all doing that? Amelia?" he quickly looked back to her, only to see her blinking back tears, too, his alarm growing even more at the sight.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson called tearfully from her table, lowering the tissue.

"Did I do it wrong?" he looked at Amelia worriedly.

"No," Amelia shook her head, her voice sounding choked with emotion, "Not in the slightest bit".

John suddenly stood, "Come here," he told him, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug, making the guests and Amelia start to clap at the sight.

"I haven't finished yet," Sherlock said, not quite hugging him back.

"Yeah, I know, I know," he nodded, shaking his head slightly at him. He released him and move to Amelia's chair, "And you, too," he gave her a broad smile.

Amelia returned it and quickly stood, throwing her arms around him in a big hug, "You know that we love you, don't you?" she whispered in his ear, her tears breaking free and slipping down her cheeks, but right now she didn't care about messing up her makeup, "You mean so much to us both and we truly couldn't be happier for you".

He sniffed and nodded, pulling back from her with an expression on his face that told her all that she needed to know. He looked ready to start crying himself, evidently deeply touched, and she smiled again and kissed his cheek before releasing him completely, returning to her seat as she grabbed a napkin from the table to try and gather a tad of her composer. The guests were still clapping and smiling happily at the sight of the three friends sharing their small moment together.

Sherlock cleared his throat as the clapping began to slowly die down, lifting his cards back up to his eyes, "So, on to some funny stories…" he began.

John laughed slightly, throwing him a look as he moved back to his seat, "Can you…you wait 'til I sit down?" he said, shaking his head as he sat back down in his chair, clearing his throat loudly as the room grew silent once more.

"So, on to some funny stories about John," he tried again, and John and Amelia both laughed softly. He looked back up to the room, seeing a few of them still looking a bit tearful, "If you could all just cheer up a bit, that would…" the guests laughed and Amelia's smile broadened, looking at him proudly for his attempt at actually making them laugh, "…be better. On we go. So, for funny stories…" he dropped the cue cards onto the table and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, "One has to look no further then John's blog," he pointedly held up his phone for them all to see as John and Amelia exchanged a look, both laughing softly, "The record of our time together," he went on, before growing a bit more serious, "Of course, he does tend to romanticise things a bit, especially my relationship with Amelia back before we even _began_ dating, but then, you know…" he glanced back down to John and Mary, "He's a romantic," he looked back up to the guests, taking a deep breath, "The three of us have tackled some strange cases: the Hollow Client…"

Amelia smiled slightly, recalling that case quite well. She, John, and Sherlock had returned back to Baker Street from a suit fitting for the boy's in preparation for the wedding, only to walk into the living room to discover that while they had been out, someone had set up an empty suit in John's chair that had been turned to face the living room door, the suit looking as if the owner had…well, deflated right there on the spot. Even a pair of shoes had been left sitting on the floor with the trouser legs positioned over the top of the shoes, just as they would be if worn by a person. It had certainly left the three of them puzzled for several seconds as they had stood there, staring at the sight.

"The Poison Giant…"

Well, giant was a bit of stretch, he had barely reached Amelia's waist even when she wasn't wearing heels, though he did have a fondness for going around with a dart pipe and shooting poisoned tipped darts at people, including them when the three of them had spent a very memorable evening chasing after the man over the rooftops and through the streets of London, ducking and weaving deadly darts as they went.

"Hmm, one of my favourite cases," she muttered sarcastically, thinking back to that case. She had ended up spraining her ankle and breaking the heel off a pair of fifteen hundred pound shoes during that little adventure, though it did have a silver lining. Sherlock was forced to practically weight on her for entire week because she wasn't very good on crutches and her ankle had been so bad that she couldn't even bear to put weight on it.

Sherlock shot her a quick look, "Well, if you will insist on wearing such impractical footwear…" he said softly to her, lowering his voice so that the rest of the room couldn't hear.

"Oh, please," she rolled her eyes, giving him a cheeky little smirk, "You _like_ me in heels, regardless of how impractical they might be. I know that for a fact, I've _seen_ it".

He cleared his throat and quickly turned away from her, deciding it was best not to continue _that_ conversation while in a room of strangers that were looking at them curiously, "We've had some frustrating cases…" he said to the room, getting back on track.

Amelia struggled to keep herself from giggling, recalling that little case and how Sherlock had been forced to dress up like a clown, much to her and John's delight. Sadly, though, they weren't allowed to even really talk about the case, just that a French decathlete had been found surrounded by one thousand, eight hundred and twelve matchboxes, completely out of his mind in a hotel room, with all but one of the matchboxes empty, which contained the impossible…and something that she would, sadly, never be able to speak about. Ever. Still, they did solve the case and saved the day, but the story of how that had happened would be one that the three of them would have to take to the grave.

He sighed, rolling his eyes slightly, "'Touching' cases…" he shot John and Amelia both a pointed look, knowing how much they had both enjoyed that particular case.

Ah, yes, Amelia recalled that case quite well. She had returned to Baker Street to find John and Sherlock in the middle of speaking to the young lady who had come to them for help. The young woman had been having an affair…with a woman, and her husband had been blackmailing her due to the knowledge of her sexuality and had made her marry him in order for him to be able to gain access to the rather sizable fortune the young woman had. The poor woman had gone through with the marriage, too, because she believed that her family wouldn't have approved of her sexuality, but then she had meet her lover and her husband, who had also been having an affair, had found out about it and was also having her investigated. It had been one of the more satisfying cases that Amelia had worked on for quite some time, and she had been delighted to hear several weeks later that the woman had divorced her husband, her family had stuck with her, and that she was now living happily with the woman that she loved.

"And of course I have to mention the elephant in the room…" Sherlock went on, earning a laugh from Amelia that she just couldn't hold back.

Oh, you know, just an ordinary case of a double homicide with an elephant _literally_ standing in the middle of one of the perfectly normal houses rooms. They had simply stood in the doorway and stared at the creature, stunned. Sadly, once again, it was a case that they would have to take to their graves, but it sure had been an interesting one to work on. Sherlock wasn't supposed to mention that case, John had even told him off on his blog for even considering including it in his speech, but Amelia thought it would be funny and she really didn't think that MI5 was going to gatecrash the wedding…well, she really hoped not. She nervously cast her eyes over towards the doorway, something she could see John doing, too, but thankfully there was no sign of anything going on outside. Looks like they were in the clear.

"But we want something…very particular for this special day, don't we?" he smiled slightly and looked down at his phone, his eyes slowly flicking back up to look at the room, "The Bloody Guardsman".

 _ **I apologise for the lateness of this chapter, I've become a little distracted with Game of Thrones starting up so soon and haven't been able to think of anything else. Well, aside from the last episode of Doctor Who, that is, which I'm still not over. Next chapter, Amelia and Mary team up, Amelia wishes she had more girl friends, and Sherlock Holmes and funny cat videos? I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_

 _ **Guest review:**_

 _ **Lia:**_ _ **I'm so glad you're happy, trying to write Sherlock in a romantic sense always makes me quite nervous and I always find myself second guessing myself. Even in this chapter I had to take out a few moments were Amelia took his hand in front of all the guests, it just felt a little out of place for her to do that and for Sherlock to be comfortable. I can't see Sherlock as being the type of guy that would instantly be comfortable with public displays of affection; even pretty minor stuff like hand holding in public seems like something he would have to get used to doing. It does help that I'm quite like that myself, I'm not a hugging person and even a relative kissing me on the cheek makes me a little uncomfortable, so I think that really helped me to figure out what type of person Sherlock would be in a romantic relationship.**_

 _ **Aww, you're review seriously made my day, trying to write for Sherlock has probably been the most challenging writing I've done yet, even more so then my Doctor Who story. The relationships and personalities are just so different, and trying to write for a character like Sherlock and still make it believable to his personality is quite challenging. But its great fun and reading your review made me smile so much, so thank you so much :)**_


	11. Chapter 11 The Sign of Three, Part 3

_**The Sign of Three, Part 3**_

The wedding was less than a month away and both Sherlock and Amelia had been taking their roles of helping John and Mary prepare very seriously. Every little detail had been planned out carefully, practically to the very minute, though that had been mainly Sherlock's doing. He had even covered the wall above the sofa in the living room of Baker Street with bits of paper and plans, some parts of it even divided off with different headings stuck above them, such as 'Transport,' 'Catering,' 'Rehearsal,' and even one heading for the wine that they would be serving at the reception. Sherlock was treating the entire wedding like a carefully planned and organised military assault, with him as the leader and with perhaps less shouting.

"Need to work on your half of the church, Mary," Sherlock remarked as he stood before the sofa, running his eyes over the paper pinned to the wall. He turned back around to look over to where Mary and Amelia were sitting at the dining table, the two women working on a small 3D cardboard model of the reception room, notes and bits of paper scattered around the table top. They both looked up as he spoke to Mary, "Looking a bit thin".

"Ah," Mary smiled a little sadly, "Orphan's lot. Friends, that's all I have," she looked back to the RSVP's that they had been sent back, flickering through them, "Lots of friends".

"Sometimes, that's all we need," Amelia told her with a comforting smile, trying to cheer her up a bit. She knew how it felt to be getting married with most of your family either dead or…well, James. She had only had about twenty people on her side when she had gotten married, half of which she hadn't even really liked that much but had felt obligated to invite, but on the day, it really had been the last thing on her mind how many people on her side of the wedding there had been. Mary would be the same, she knew that.

Mary returned her smile, "You're right," she agreed, brightening a bit more as she reached across to nudge his arm, "I've got all the friends I need".

"That's the spirit! Positive thinking, it makes all the difference".

Sherlock barely even seemed to be paying attention to either of them, looking off thoughtfully towards the window, "Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11:48," he said suddenly, before turning back to look over towards them, "Amelia, make a note".

Amelia rolled her eyes and gave Mary a look, but she still picked up a pen from beside her and flipped a notepad open that already had several little scribbled down notes inside it, jotting the time for the music, just to humour him. It was easier to deal with him if she just went along with it, she had found, otherwise he ended up getting annoyed and would disappear off to sulk in his room for the rest of the evening, like a child. She knew he was just trying to cope with what was going on, so she really didn't mind humouring him that much, plus, it wasn't exactly the most romantic thing to be reminded that she was dating a thirty seven year old child.

Mary gave her a small smile, knowing what she was doing, "But the rehearsals not for another two weeks," she looked back across to Sherlock, shaking her head, "Just calm down".

"Calm?" he repeated, frowning at her, "I _am_ calm. I'm _extremely_ calm".

"Of _course_ you are," Amelia nodded, throwing him a small smile and holding out a hand towards him. He narrowed his eyes at her, "Leave that and come help us with the reception," she gave him a hopeful look, "Please?"

He sighed and took her offered hand, allowing her to lightly tug him over towards the table, coming to stand just behind her chair, resting his right hand on her shoulder. John glanced up from his phone, sitting across the room in his old armchair to eye the couple, a small smirk crossing his face at the sight of Sherlock actually complying with Amelia, even though it was clear to _everyone_ that she was just humouring him. It was a small thing, perhaps for the two of them, but John knew Sherlock and knew perfectly well that he wouldn't have complied nearly so easily two years ago.

Mary held out a RSVP card for Sherlock to see, trying to distract him, "John's cousin," she informed him as he took the offered paper, eyeing it carefully, "Top table?"

"Hmm, hates you," Sherlock said, almost instantly, running his eyes over the paper. Mary blinked and looked back up to him in surprise, while Amelia sighed and bit her red lips at how bluntly he had worded it, "Can't even bear to think about you".

"Seriously?"

"Well, I wouldn't have said it quite so bluntly, but he's correct," Amelia sighed, playing with the ruffle of her black peplum top. Today's outfit also included a white pencil skirt with printed black and pale pink flower pattern that ran across the fabric, a pair of pale pink patent leather heels, brown pearl stud earrings, and a matching multiple strained brown and white pearl necklace. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, smoky eye shadow and skin tone nail polish.

Sherlock nodded, still examining the card, "Second class post, cheap card…" he lifted it up to his nose and sniffed, grimacing as he handed it back to Mary, who still looked quite surprised, "Bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp: three attempts at licking. She's obviously retaining saliva".

"Aw," Mary commented, before glancing over her shoulder to John with a fake smile, "Let's stick her by the bogs".

"Nothing says revenge at a wedding then that," Amelia smiled slightly, before a thoughtful expression crossed her face, "That, and a guest turning up wearing white. That's just rude".

Mary smiled faintly before clearing her throat, casting John a quick look over her shoulder and turning back to Sherlock and Amelia, leaning towards them, "Who _else_ hates me?" she asked them quietly. Sherlock simply reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a slip of paper with a number of names written on it, handing it to her over Amelia's head. She checked the list, "Oh great, thanks," she sighed sarcastically, flipping the paper over as it continued on the back.

"Priceless painting nicked," John called over to them, looking at his phone, "Looks interesting".

"I solved it," Amelia replied, not looking up, knowing that he was trying to find a case to distract Sherlock and, well, himself, "It's an insurance fraud. The owner is on the brink of a very messy divorce and desperate for the insurance money due to the painting actually being a fake after the real painting was destroyed in a fire years ago," she shrugged, finally looking over to John, who was blinking at her in surprise, "If there's no painting, there's no proof it's a fake and they still get the money for it. I've seen it _so_ many times".

"Oh, right…" he nodded slowly, turning back to his phone in search of another case.

"Table four…" Mary began, looking down at a slip of paper and peering into the model reception room.

"Done," Sherlock cut across her, leaning over Amelia's shoulder.

John smiled slightly, looking amused by something on his phone screen, "'My husband is three people,'" he read aloud, glancing over to them.

"Table five," Mary said, not paying any attention to John, still looking down on the model.

Amelia flipped through a couple of pages of the notepad before locating the correct page, "Here we are, table five…" she muttered, running her eyes down the list of people that they had already placed at that table.

"Major James Sholto," Sherlock frowned, reading the list over her shoulder, "Who he?"

"Oh, John's old commanding officer," Mary explained, looking across to them, "I don't think he's coming," she shook her head.

"He'll be there," John said, not seeming to be the slightest bit concerned.

She glanced back over her shoulder to him, giving him a pointed look, "Well, he needs to RSVP, then".

"He'll _be_ there".

"Hmm…" she hummed, looking quite doubtful as she turned back around in her seat to continue going over the seating arrangements. She met Amelia's eyes and shook her head, making the brunet smile.

John turned back to his phone, "'My husband is three people,'" he repeated thoughtfully, running his eyes down the article, "It's interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin," he looked up to Sherlock and Amelia, raising his eyebrows.

"Identical triplets," Sherlock said at once, straightening, "One in half a million births. Amelia and I solved it without leaving the flat," he turned and walked over to the front of the coffee table, "Now, serviettes," he squatted down and reached beneath the table, pulling out a small tray with two serviettes neatly folded into shapes, one looking like a bird or the Loch Ness Monster, depending on how you looked at it, while the second one could have been mistaken for a pirate hat. He looked back up to Mary, waving his hand down at the tray, "Swan, or Sydney Opera House?"

Mary broke into a smile catching sight of the tray, though her eyes did flicker briefly across to Amelia, who looked like she was trying hard not to laugh, "Where'd you learn to do that?" she asked him brightly.

He glanced back down at the tray, "Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation…" he tried, sounding completely serious.

Her smile faded, eyeing him closely, "Fibbing, Sherlock".

"I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of…"

"I'm not John," she interrupted him, rolling her eyes, "I can tell when you're fibbing".

"Nice try, though," Amelia smirked, highly amused. It was actually rather sweet that he thought he could try and fool them into believing that he had learnt how to fold serviettes into shapes while solving a case. Well, fool John and Mary, she had spent the past two days watching him practise on pillowcases. She even had a picture on her phone of him doing it.

"Okay," Sherlock sighed in exasperation, not looking at either woman, "I learned it on YouTube".

"Yes, in-between moaning about funny cat videos," the brunet remarked, giving him a look, "Honestly, those videos were hilarious and you know it".

He scoffed, "Hardly. I can't see how a grown woman and man…" he threw John a pointed look, recalling how he used to enjoy watching such videos, before looking back over to Amelia, "Can find humour in something so trivial as a cat falling off a table or hissing at a dog".

"You smiled at that one with the dog! I _saw_ you, Holmes".

"I was simply smiling at the stupidity of humanity".

"Sherlock, you hate stupidity, why on Earth would you be smiling about it?" she shook her head, a wide smile crossing her face, "Just admit that you enjoyed that one video. _Admit_ it!"

John cleared his throat loudly, looking over to them from his phone screen as Mary simply looked back and forth between the two detectives, seeming to be unsure of exactly what to do, "It's nice to see that you two still bicker like an old married couple," he said loudly, cutting Sherlock off before he could open his mouth.

"John," Amelia quickly looked over to him, her expression determined, "I sent that link of the dog and the cat to you. Was it funny or not?"

"Oh, for God's sake…" Sherlock grumbled, running a hand down his face in exasperation.

John sighed, nodding, "Of course it was funny," he agreed, making Amelia give a loud 'ha!' and point at Sherlock with a smug expression on her face, "It was a little kitten hissing at a Great Dane, how is that not funny?" he looked back to Sherlock, shaking his head.

"Fine!" he suddenly snapped, throwing his hands up in the air, "It was funny," he huffed and turned to glare at Amelia, who looked delighted, "Happy?"

She grinned, "Very much so, thank you".

His glare didn't waver, "Remind me again why I still put up with you?"

"Hmm…" she pretended to think about it, not in the slightest bit bothered by his glare. It wasn't real, she knew that he was just putting on an act, "Maybe it's because I am the only the woman who can actually put up with your nonsense without feeling the urge to slap you on a daily basses. Oh, and we can't possibly forget my amazing sense of fashion and _staggering_ intellect," she winked playfully at him, not being serious.

"Staggering intellect?" he raised his eyebrows, " _You_?"

She narrowed her eyes, "Cheeky," she picked up her pen and tossed it at him, though she was a little disappointed when he managed to easily snatch it out of the air before it even came close to hitting him. A smirk crossed his face as he wiggled the pen teasingly back at her, practically gloating at his ability to catch it.

"Were they always like this?" Mary asked John curiously, still looking back and forth between the pair.

"The bickering, yes," John sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching, "The blatant flirting used to be a lot more subtle, though".

Sherlock frowned and shot John a look, not overly pleased by the side comments between John and Mary about him and Amelia flirting, that really hadn't been what he had meant to do in front of them but he had gotten a little…distracted and wrapped up in the moment. He blamed Amelia for that, of course, though he couldn't really find it in him to be annoyed. It was becoming increasingly harder to pretend to be annoyed with her or irritated by her antics, he was blaming that entirely on her, too. In fact, he was blaming it all on her; he never felt the slightest bit of interest in becoming romantically involved with anyone until he meet _her_.

"Mary?" he tried to get back on track, ignoring the little smile on John's face.

"Hmm?" Mary hummed, looking over to him. He waved a pointed hand back down to the folded serviettes, "Oh, Opera House, please," she told him, catching on, "Ooh, hang on…" she leaned slightly sideways in her chair, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, "I'm buzzing," she pulled out her phone and lifted it up to her ear, "Hello?" she answered brightly, pausing to listen for a moment, "Oh, hi, Beth!" she stood and began to head for the sliding doors of the kitchen. John looked up from his phone as she continued speaking into the phone, "Yeah, yeah, don't see why not…" she disappeared into the kitchen, Amelia eyes following her with a knowing look.

"Actually, if that's Beth, it's probably for me too," John said suddenly, uncrossing his legs and standing, glancing at Sherlock, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, fiddling with a stack of serviettes, "Hang on," he crossed the room and disappeared into the kitchen.

Amelia sat a bit straighter in her chair, knowing perfectly well that neither John or Mary knew a Beth, it was a code. She pushed her chair back and causally stood, straightening her skirt a bit as she glanced back at Sherlock, "Do you want something to drink?" she asked him.

"Nothing for me, thank you," he said absently, his entire focus on the serviettes.

She nodded and bent down to lightly drop a kiss onto the top of his head, ruffling his hair as she straightened. She wouldn't have done that with John and Mary in the room, but with them in the kitchen, she doubted he would mind very much. He gave her a quick glance as she left the room and ducked into the kitchen to find John and Mary standing just within the doorway, speaking quietly.

"Good, Amelia's here," Mary said happily, catching sight of the brunet, who carefully slid the doors shut behind her, "Tell John that Sherlock's terrified about this wedding".

"'Course he's not," John frowned, shaking his head.

"Yeah, he is," Amelia said, making him blink and give her a double take, startled that she was actually agreeing with Mary. She sighed and dropped her voice lower, "Oh, come on, John, it's obvious. He's planned out this wedding to the very last detail, how can you not see how terrified he is?"

"He's just being thorough. It's Sherlock bloody Holmes, that's what he does".

"Not like this," she insisted firmly, "Trust me on this one," she pointed back to the closed doors, "He's only just hanging on out there and he's doing everything he possibly can do to pretend otherwise," she turned her finger on John, narrowly avoiding poking his chest, "And _you're_ falling for it".

Mary nodded along with her, crossing her arms across her chest, "Right, you know when you're scared of something, you start wishing it sooner just to get it all going?" she tried to explain it to him as John still looked a little unconvinced, "That's what he's doing," she pointed back at the kitchen door.

"Exactly," Amelia agreed, both woman turning back to look at John.

"Why would he be scared that we're getting married?" John frowned, gesturing between himself and Mary, looking back to Amelia, since she was more likely to understand Sherlock Holmes's mind than any of them. Besides, she was dating and living with the man, she would have a better understanding, "It's not gonna change anything, we'll still do stuff".

"I know that," she pointed to herself, nodding, "But Sherlock's _different_. It doesn't matter how many times _I_ tell him that nothing is going to change because it's not me that he needs to hear that from, it's you, John".

"You need to prove it to him," Mary added, giving John a pointed look, "I told you to find you three a new case".

"I'm trying," he defended himself quickly, "If someone would stop going around solving them all…" he threw Amelia a look.

Amelia sighed, "You were never going to get Sherlock to work on any of those cases," she shook her head, looking as if she was only just resisting rolling her eyes, "Honestly, they were simple, painfully easy. That's not how we work, John, we need the different and challenging".

"I know. Believe me, I _know_ ".

"You need to run him, okay?" Mary told John sternly, making him look back to her, "Show him it's still the old days," she gave him an encouraging smile and waited expectantly for a moment, but when John simply looked at her, she sighed and gestured over towards the kitchen doors with a pointed look.

Amelia couldn't hold back any longer and rolled her eyes, grabbing John's arm, "Come on," she muttered, half dragging him along after her as she headed over to the kitchen doors. Mary lightly nudged his back, forcing him to follow. Amelia slid the doors open and stepped back out into the living room, releasing John's arm as they both looked over to find Sherlock still sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table…only he had been rather busy. There were several folded serviettes in the shape of the Sydney Opera House sitting on the floor, while another six were sitting on the coffee table. Both John and Amelia blinked, staring at the sight before them, a little taken aback.

Sherlock had his head propped up on one hand, but when he heard Amelia's heels clicking on the floor behind him, he looked back behind him to see them. He turned back to the serviettes and waved his hands at them, "That just sort of…happened," he said casually, or at least tried to be.

"Right…" Amelia nodded slowly, giving him a smile, "Well, it looks great. Right, John?" she cleared her throat, glancing at John.

"Yeah, great," John said slowly, frowning slightly at Sherlock. He forced himself to smile and took a step closer to him, "Sherlock, um…" he began as Sherlock stood, "Mate…" he paused again, frowning as Amelia inwardly winced at just how awkward he was being. Surely it wasn't that hard to lie to Sherlock? Honestly, men. He looked away from him, "I've…" he moved over to take a seat at the dining table and Amelia moved to sit in the middle chair. Sherlock hesitated, checking to make sure that Mary was still on the phone before he also took a seat across from John, who looked back over to him, "I've smelled eighteen different perfumes, I've sampled…" he paused, thinking quickly, "…nine different slices of cake which all tasted identical, I like the bridesmaids in purple…"

"Lilac," Sherlock and Amelia corrected in unison.

"Lilac," he nodded, his eyes flickering back up to them and back down again, mainly because he was afraid that Sherlock would figure out what he was doing if he meet his eyes, "Um, there are no more decisions left to make," he continued, shaking his head, "I don't even understand the decisions that we _have_ made. I'm faking opinions and it's exhausting, so please, before she comes back…" he cast the kitchen door a quick look and activated his phone, clearing his throat as he held his phone out over the table towards Sherlock, Sherlock's own blog, 'Science of Deduction' up on the screen. He looked at him hopefully, "Pick something," he urged him as Sherlock eyes moved rapidly between the phone's screen and John's face, " _Anything_. Pick one".

"Pick what?" Sherlock asked, confused.

He blinked at him, glancing at Amelia, who simply smiled faintly. He looked back to Sherlock and laughed slightly in disbelief, "A case," he replied, as if it ought to be obvious, "Your Inbox is bursting. Just…" he paused, glancing back over towards the kitchen door where they could faintly hear Mary talking on the phone. He turned back to Sherlock, looking almost desperate, "Get me out of here".

He leaned across the table towards him, "You want to go out on a case?" he asked quietly, seeming quite stunned that he would want to, " _Now_?" he threw the kitchen door a quick, pointed look.

"Please, Sherlock, for me".

He eyed him for a moment before he suddenly looked to Amelia, looking as if he just wanted to give in but was a little unsure whether he ought to, "Amelia?" he raised his eyebrows questioningly at her, seeing as she usually had better judgment in these sorts of matters.

Amelia gave him a small smile, reaching over to pat his arm, "If John wants to go on a case, than let's indulge him," she said softly with a shrug of her shoulders, glancing at John. Should she feel worried about just how easy it was for her to lie and manipulate Sherlock like this? Probably, "Personally, I would love a good case and get a chance to get some fresh air".

Sherlock nodded, looking quite determined as he grabbed John's phone, "Don't you worry about a thing," he told John, keeping his voice low, "We'll get you out of this," he looked down at the phones screen and began going through his messages, not noticing the relieved look on John's face or the sly smirk on Amelia's. A few seconds went by, when one of the messages caught his eye, "Oh," he muttered.

"Found something?" Amelia raised her eyebrows, curious.

"Look at this," he passed the phone to her to see for herself.

"'Dear Mr Holmes and Miss Wilson…'" she started reading, only to pause and blink, looking back up to him, "Ooh, someone who actually requested me, too. You know, two years ago, most people seemed to think that I was just the pretty face in the group and not an actual detective in my own right, like how all those papers were more interested in what I wore or if we were secretly dating. It's nice to see that my apparent death has finally earned me the recognition I deserve as a professional in this little team and not just for my clothing".

"Congratulations, Amelia," he sighed, giving her a quick look, "Now, can you please continue?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, biting her tongue from saying something back that she knew would only lead to an argument, something she really didn't wish to happen. But she was happy because it was true, two years ago everyone might have known that she was a detective, but they were still more interested in how she dressed or her personal life then her actual work or skill. Two years had passed and finally, after having begun working with Sherlock, she was being seen as a proper detective and acknowledge as one, and as a feminist, she was delighted in the change, even if it might have seemed like a rather minor one, it still meant a lot to her. She turned back to the phone, still feeling quite happy.

"'My name is Bainbridge,'" she read aloud, "'I'm a Private in Her Majesty's Household Guard. I'm writing to you both about a personal matter, one that I don't care to bring before my superiors, it would sound so trivial, but I think someone's stalking me. I'm used to tourists, its part of the job, but this is different. Someone's watching me. He's taking pictures of me _every_ day. Don't want to mention it to the major, but it's really preying on my mind. I heard that you two are the best detectives in London, so if anyone can figure this out and help put a stop to it, it would be you two'".

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment as Amelia lowered the phone, "Uniformed fetishist," he remarked, raising his eyebrows at he glanced at Amelia, "'All the nice girls like a solider'".

"It's 'sailor,'" John corrected, shaking his head.

"But a man in a uniform can be quite handsome," Amelia admitted, making both John and Sherlock look at her strangely. She smiled slightly and shrugged, "Oh, don't look at me like that, they _can_ be handsome, but it's not really my type. Intelligence is always far more sexy then any uniform," she grinned, even being daring enough to wink in Sherlock's direction as she finished. He actually lifted an eyebrow and almost seemed to be automatically leaning towards her, when John cleared his throat loudly and Sherlock blinked, straightening once more. She smirked a him, rather pleased with herself that she managed to actually get to him for a moment, "Anyway…" she went on, glancing back at the phone still in her hand, "Bainbridge doesn't seem to think it's a woman, he thinks we're dealing with a man".

"Let's go and investigate," John looked between the two of them, though he was mainly focusing on Sherlock, "Please?"

Amelia frowned slightly, reading something in the message, "'Elite Guard?'" she shook her head, looking back up to John. Her knowledge about the military was quite limited, "What is that, exactly?"

"Forty enlisted men and officers," he informed her, and she nodded in understanding.

"Why this _particular_ Grenadier?" Sherlock wondered aloud, frowning thoughtfully, "Curious".

"Indeed," the brunet agreed, smiling faintly.

"Now you're talking," John smiled, looking pleased.

Sherlock glanced at Amelia, who nodded before turning back to John, "Okay," he told him, making John smile even wider, taking his phone back from Amelia and slipping it into his pocket. The three of them rose from their chairs and began to head for the living room door, just as Mary came back into the room with her phone pressed against her ear.

"Bye," she said into the phone, and lowered it from her ear and clicked it off, pretending as if she had just finished her call with 'Beth'. She looked to the three of them, raising her eyebrows questionably at seeing them heading for the door.

"Er, we're just going to…" John began, trying to think quickly as he looked at Mary, playing his own little act, "I need, um, Sherlock and Amelia to help me choose some, er…socks".

"Ties…" Sherlock said at the same time, both men glancing at each other when they realised what they had said.

Mary looked back and forth between them both as Amelia briefly closed her eyes, looking as if she very much wanted to laugh, "Why don't we go with socks?" she told them lightly.

"Yeah," John nodded a bit too eagerly.

"I mean, you've got to get the right ones. Right, Amelia?"

"Oh, yes," Amelia agreed, forcing herself to look completely serious and not like she was about to burst into giggles. She nodded, hoping she looked convincing, "Socks can break an outfit".

"Exactly," John nodded again, smiling as he glanced down his front, "To go with my…"

"…tie," Sherlock said at the same time, only for John to finish with, "…outfit".

Amelia looked between the two and rolled her eyes, giving Mary a look when neither man was looking, "Well, it was my idea, actually," she lied, flashing Mary a smile now that she had caught the attention of both John and Sherlock, "They both need ties and socks for the wedding, so I figured I would take them to get them both at the same time. You know, supervise them, make sure they don't end up bringing back some hideous purple and yellow tie, or something just as terrifying," she gave a shudder that wasn't entirely fake.

She had literally grabbed John by the back of his jumper and practically pulled him out of the shop when they had gone to pick out their suits just because he was eyeing a plaid blazer a bit too long for her comfort. It had been green and she rather not think any more about it. At least Sherlock could dress decent without her having to instruct him, in fact, he was quite possibly the only boyfriend she had ever had that she hadn't been forced to comb through his wardrobe and deem what must never ever be seen in public again. It was a great relief, actually.

Mary laughed slightly, "That'll take a while, right?" she looked at Amelia.

"With these two," she cast them both a quick look, smirking as she noticed Sherlock narrowing his eyes at her. She was enjoying this quite a bit, " _Hours_ ".

John looked at Mary, pointing off into the kitchen, "My coat in there?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded, smiling at him as he turned and left the room to grab his coat, leaving the three of them behind.

Sherlock waited until he had disappeared through the kitchen door before stepping a bit closer to Mary and Amelia, "Just going to take him out for a bit," he told them quietly, "Run him".

"I know," Mary smiled, and he happily smiled back at her as Amelia pattered his arm, "You two said you'd find him a case," she lightly nudged Sherlock's side.

"Mm," he hummed in agreement, looking quite proud of himself.

"It wasn't easy at first," Amelia remarked, playing along with her part as she gave Mary a subtle eye roll, before fixing a bright smile onto her face and glancing back to Sherlock, "But we got there in the end".

"Come on, Sherlock, Amelia," John called, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen, adjusting his coat around his shoulders.

"Coming," Sherlock replied, turning on his heel and walking over to stand in the open living room door.

Amelia and Mary remained where they were, the two women watching with silent amusement as both men, completely unseen by each other, looked back to them and grinned, Sherlock giving them a double thumbs-up while John circled his thumb and forefinger, flashing them a little wink. Mary happily held up both of her thumbs and looked back and forth between the two of them and Amelia flashed them a little sly smirk and winked at them both, making it appear to each man as if it was only their little secret message. They both turned and headed off downstairs as Amelia lingered behind for a moment.

"They're just so easy," she shook her head, glancing at Mary beside her, allowing a small laugh to escape her.

"Oh, I know," Mary smiled broadly, laughing quietly with her. She looked back to her and rolled her eyes fondly, "Men".

Amelia grinned and held up her hand, high fiving with the other woman, "It's a pleasure working with you, Mary," she gave her a little wink, "As always".

"And you, Miss Wilson".

"Amelia!" Sherlock's voice shouted up the stairs and through to the living room, sounding quite impatient.

Amelia rolled her eyes and shared another quick, amused look with Mary before quickly moving to grab her pale pink coat with black sequin detailing on the cuffs from off the hooks just behind the living room door, along with her matching pink handbag. She pulled the coat on as she hurried off down the stairs to meet Sherlock and John already standing outside on the footpath with a cab waiting for them.

"What took you so long?" Sherlock asked, frowning at her.

"Oh, nothing," she said innocently, ignoring the narrowed eyed look he was giving her as she calmly slid into the back of the taxi, smiling softly to herself. Yes, Mary and her were definitely going to have a great deal of fun together in the future, she could feel it.

….

It didn't take them to long before their cab drove them to the barracks that Bainbridge was stationed and they made their way inside the high fenced front area of the barracks, John leading the way with his past history of being in the military, while Sherlock and Amelia hung back slightly as they followed him up to the main entrance to the barracks and up to a waiting duty sergeant who was positioned by the doors. There was a group of guards marching around a short distance from them, preparing to be dismissed, and Amelia couldn't help watching curiously for a moment at the sight.

"Company, halt!" the parade sergeant ordered the men, making them all immediately come to a quick stop, waiting for their next order, "Right, turn!"

John pulled his wallet from his pocket and held it out for the duty sergeant to see his military ID. The rather stern looking man took the wallet and eyed the ID carefully as John automatically seemed to stand a bit straighter, clasping his hands behind his back, "We're here to see Private Stephen Bainbridge," he informed the man.

The sergeant glanced back up to them, his eyes flickering over the three of them briefly as his eyebrows rose very slightly at Amelia, who simply smiled polity back at him. She probably ought to have changed her clothing before heading out; her current outfit did make her standout quite a bit around a bunch of military uniforms. It was starting to feel a bit like Baskerville all over again.

"He's on duty right now, sir," the sergeant said to John, handing his wallet back to him, "But I'll certainly let him know when he's free".

"And when will that be?" Sherlock asked, looking mildly annoyed by the news that they would have to wait.

"Another hour," he replied, glancing over to him.

"Thank you for your time," Amelia flashed the man a smile, taking Sherlock's arm and lightly starting to pull him away, just in case he had any thoughts about trying to protest or argue. The last thing they needed was for something like that to happen so that they ended up getting thrown in jail.

Sherlock allowed her to pull him away and John quickly hurried after them with a small nod to the sergeant as he went. They soon found themselves sitting on a park bench that was directly across the road from the front gates of the barracks where they could easily see Bainbridge and another Foot Guard standing guard outside the gates, both men standing fixed in position, ignoring the tourists happily snapping pictures of them. Amelia crossed her legs, sitting between John and Sherlock as they watched in silence for a minute or two. She couldn't imagine that she would ever have enough discipline to be able to stand on guard like that while people took pictures of her, and in the summer time it must have been just awful wearing that uniform. It really did give her a whole new respect for how much training and self-control they must have to be able to just stand there like that.

"Do you think they give them classes?" Sherlock wondered aloud, breaking the silence.

John glanced at him, "Classes?"

"How to resist the temptation to scratch their behinds?"

Amelia sighed heavily, closing her eyes briefly, "I really do need to get more female friends," she muttered to herself, earning a small smile from Sherlock and John.

"Afferent neurons in the peripheral nervous system," John said casually, looking back to the gate. Sherlock looked around Amelia to him, not getting it while Amelia tried hard to resist the corner of her mouth twitching, despite what she might have said before. She had studied psychology, she had a pretty good idea what John was referring to, "Bum itch," he clarified for Sherlock.

"Oh!" Sherlock blinked in realisation. Silence fell over them, broken only by the dull mummer of cars driving along the road before them, "So why don't you see him anymore?" he questioned after a long moment, glancing back over to John.

He frowned and looked back over to him, "Who?"

"Your previous commander, Sholto".

He raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Amelia, who was smiling faintly in amusement, "'Previous commander,'" he repeated, catching the slip.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, looking a little embarrassed, "I meant 'ex,'" he corrected.

"Sure you did, Holmes," Amelia laughed, shaking her head.

"'Previous' suggests that I currently _have_ a commander," John continued, not quite ready to let Sherlock off just yet.

"Which you don't," Sherlock remarked, not looking at him.

"Which I _don't_ ,' he agreed.

"'Course you don't".

"It's sweet that you two actually believe that," Amelia said lightly, smirking as both men looked at her quickly, confusion written on their faces. She rolled her eyes at them, "Oh, please, entering into a romantic relationship is the closest thing to getting a commander out of the military. John…" she looked pointed to him, raising her eyebrows, "Does Mary tell you what you ought to wear when you go out, even in a subtle way?" John blinked, looking a little taken aback as she smiled and looked over to Sherlock, "Sherlock, for the past four months, have you or have you not done all the washing up after meals, even though you constantly complain about it? You might moan about it, but you still do it without me even needing to ask you to…now, anyway".

"That's…different," Sherlock frowned slightly, though he did look a little unsure of himself now.

"You also eat properly, sleep for six to five hours a night, and no longer play the violin to all hours of the morning, even if you _are_ trying to think. Shall I go on about all the little things I've managed to get you to stop doing or change since we began dating?"

John sighed heavily, "Why couldn't you two have dated two years ago?" he muttered, shaking his head in exasperation. If Amelia had managed to get Sherlock to change a few of his habits and become a bit more helpful around the flat, what else was she going to be able to get him to do in another five months? Sherlock getting a girlfriend seemed like it was one of the healthiest things that he had done in years.

Amelia laughed and reached over to sympathetically pat John's arm. She didn't want to change Sherlock, that really wasn't the best thought process to have entering into a romantic relationship because it never actually worked, but if she could try and make Sherlock be a bit more mindful and helpful, such as doing the dishes and not playing the violin to all hours, since she really didn't trust him to cook and she needed to sleep, then she figured she might as well try and install some of those small changes into him. So far, it had worked, though it had taken five months and he still liked to complain about the dishes, but as long as he actually did the dishes, Amelia wasn't going to mind listening to him go on and, besides, she found it quite easy to ignore him when he was complaining, it was a bit like white noise to her at this point.

"I don't think that will be necessary, Amelia," Sherlock cut in, throwing both her and John a quick look, not wishing John to hear just how much power Amelia apparently had over him. He cleared his throat and looked back across to the gates, "Sholto, he was decorated, wasn't he?" he asked John, still not looking at them, "A war hero".

"Not to everyone," John replied, glancing at him, "He led a team of crows into battle".

"'Crows?'" he frowned, not recognising the term as Amelia also looked at John curiously.

"New recruits," he explained to them, and Amelia nodded in understanding, listening closely. He shrugged, continuing, "It's standard procedure, break the new boys in, but it went wrong," he sighed, looking grim, "They all died, he was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell," he glanced briefly back over to Sherlock and Amelia, his eyes lingering on Sherlock's face, "He gets more death threats than _you,_ Sherlock".

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that," Sherlock said quietly, a darker edge entering his tone.

"Probably best not to go there," Amelia remarked warily, giving John a pointed look to move off that topic. It was bad enough reading the death threats, she rather not continue to dwell on them. Fame and her brother's attempts to destroy Sherlock's life seemed to have drawn some people's attention, perhaps hoping to make a name for themselves, a bit like copycat killers.

John gave her a small, understanding nod and looked back across the road to the gates, "Why have you suddenly taken an interest in another human being?" he asked Sherlock, finding it strange for Sherlock to be asking about Sholto. Amelia, sure, but _Sherlock_? That was a little odd.

"I'm…chatting," Sherlock told him after a moment, shifting a little awkwardly as both John and Amelia looked at him, raising their eyebrows at him. He turned his head very slightly to look at them, before slowly looking back across to the gates, trying to ignore their expressions, "Won't be doing _that_ again," he muttered.

"I think it's sweet," Amelia smiled, reaching over to take his hand, squeezing it as he gave her a mildly surprised look, "If a little unusual for you".

"Changing the subject completely…" John began, taking a deep breath and glancing back across to Sherlock and Amelia, his eyes coming to rest on Sherlock, "You know, it won't alter anything, right, me and Mary, getting married?" he assured him, remembering what Amelia had told him about Sherlock needing to hear _him_ say it, "We'll still be doing all this," he waved his hand around.

"Oh, good," Sherlock said casually, looking even more uncomfortable now.

"If you were worrying".

"Wasn't worried".

John looked at Amelia and caught her eye, the two sharing a quick look before he looked back over towards the gate. A moment passed when he laughed slightly to himself, "See, the thing about Mary…" he said quietly, "She has completely turned my life around, changed everything. But, for the record, over the last few years there are three people who have done that…and two of them are…" he trailed off and sighed heavily, closing his eyes briefly, "He's walked off, hasn't he?"

"Yeah," Amelia nodded, smiling broadly.

He opened his eyes and looked back over to find only her still sitting beside him, Sherlock nowhere in sight, "Did you even try to stop him from leaving?" he asked with a wary tone of voice, knowing the answer already.

"What, and ruin you lovely little speech?" she mock gasped, shaking her head at him.

"So you were just going to sit there and let me prattle on like a complete idiot?"

"Of course not, I would have said something… _eventually_ ".

"Oh, thanks!" he exclaimed sarcastically.

She smiled, reaching over to pat his arm, not the slightest bit bothered by his annoyance, "If it makes you feel better, I was quite touched by what you had to say," she told him lightly, "It was very sweet to hear how much you care".

He pointed a finger at her, turning towards her on the bench, "You know, you two really are perfect for each other!" he almost glared at her, recalling another time when Sherlock had done something similar while he had poured his heart out to them.

Amelia sighed, her smile fading slightly as she held up her hands, seeing how worked up he was getting over it. She really didn't see it as being such a big deal, but clearly it had annoyed John and that hadn't been her intention, "Okay, I apologise," she said sincerely, "I should have said something or tried to stop Sherlock from wondering off. Now, are you going to help me go and speak to whoever is in charge of the Barracks, or are you going to hold this against me for the rest of the day?" she stood and brushed the back of her coat down, raising an eyebrow back down at John.

John looked back up to her, still looking slightly annoyed over the whole thing, but after a moment he did sigh and stand, earning a bright smile from the brunet as they set off back across the road for the Barracks.

….

John and Amelia were sitting in the office of Major Reed, the man who was apparently in charge of the Barracks, or at least that's what Amelia had assumed since that's who they had been sent to speak to. A large desk was between John and Amelia as they looked across to Reed, the man carefully examining John's military ID. Sherlock still hadn't turned up, not that either of them had really expected him to.

After a moment of examining the ID, Reed looked back up to eye the pair, "Can I ask what this is in connection with?" he questioned, frowning very slightly.

"I'm afraid that it's a private matter, sir," Amelia informed him, directing the man's attention across to her, his eyes narrowing even more suspiciously, "One of your men, a Private Bainbridge contacted my associates and I a few days ago about the matter".

"Nothing's personal when it concerns my troops," Reed said firmly, his eyes still narrowed as he looked between them, "What do you really want?"

John sighed slightly, "We're here on a legitimate enquiry," he tried to explain to him, feeling like they were in danger of going around in circles with this man.

"Press?" he looked pointedly to Amelia, who once again found herself regretting her outfit choice, "Digging for some Royal story or something?"

"No, sir," he shook his head, glancing at Amelia, who could only sigh. He looked back to Reed and pointed back to the ID card still in his hand, "I'm Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers".

"Retired," he cut in, briefly glancing back down to the ID and back up to John, "You could be used car salesman now, for all I know," he turned his attention back onto Amelia, "And you are…?"

Amelia gave him a friendly smile, "Amelia Wilson," she introduced herself, again.

He frowned, looking at them both closely for a moment, "I know you two, don't I?" he said slowly, his eyes lingering on Amelia.

John raised his eyebrows, throwing Amelia a slightly concerned look, "Hmm?"

"Do you?" Amelia asked him pleasantly, keeping her expression polity interested.

He continued to eye them carefully for a moment as he leaned slightly forward and dropped John's ID card on the desk in front of John, besides where his wallet was also sitting. John reached forward and picked the card and his wallet up, slipping his card back inside his wallet.

"I've seen you two in the papers," he remarked, leaning back in his chair, still watching them both. John cleared his throat a little uncomfortably, but Amelia's expression remained the same. He focused on Amelia, "You're that detective with the blue scarf and ridiculous high heels…"

"It's not my scarf…" Amelia muttered, sighing slightly herself. She really did wish that Sherlock had never made her put on his scarf back when the press had first taken an interest in them, now they always seemed to expect her to be wearing it or would say that it was cute when they snapped Sherlock wearing his scarf. This was how all those bloody dating rumours first started; no wonder people that didn't already know them weren't shocked when they became official.

"You hang around with that other detective, the one with the silly hat," Reed went on, acting as if she hadn't spoken as he looked back and forth between the two of them, "What the hell does Bainbridge want with detectives?"

Amelia sat a bit straighter, her expression growing very serious, "I'm afraid that at this point in the investigation, we are not at liberty to give you such information," she told the man calmly, "We must respect our clients wish for privacy".

"You're not at liberty to say?" he repeated, staring at her in disbelief. Amelia's expression didn't waver, "He's a soldier in my regiment, I'll be damned if he's going to get up to cloak and dagger nonsense like this".

The sound of a door opening sounded and a duty sergeant ran into the room, "Sir…!" he called urgently, before coming to a sharp halt at the sight of Amelia and John. He looked hurriedly back to Reed, "Sir," he said again, still quite urgent.

"What's going on?" Reed questioned, looking very confused and annoyed.

"It's Bainbridge, sir," the man said hurriedly, making Amelia and John look at him, "He's dead".

Reed stared at him in horror and jumped onto his feet, quickly following the sergeant out of the room as John and Amelia both looked at each in alarm, leaping up from their chairs and dashing after them. They made their way into a large locker room, only to find Bainbridge lying on the tiled floor just outside a shower cubical with shattered glass surrounding his motionless body and a dull, watered down pool of blood seeping across the floor around him. He was soaking wet and completely naked, with traces of shampoo still in his hair. Amelia gasped in shock at the sight of so much blood covering the man's lower back, and she wasn't the only one who was stunned and horrified by the sight.

Reed, his eyes wide, hurried over to the body and stared down at it, "My God!" he exclaimed as Amelia and John walked closer, John sighing heavily at the sight. Reed suddenly held up his hand to stop them from getting any closer, eyeing them both suspiciously.

"Ah, no," John tried to assure him, "Let me take a look, sir. I'm a doctor".

"What?" he blinked at him, growing even more alarmed, "Sergeant, arrest this man," he gestured his hand at John.

Amelia frowned deeply and tried to move in front of the sergeant as he moved to grab John, "No, you can't just arrest him!" she said quickly, but the sergeant sighed and pushed her aside. Her shoes really weren't meant for wet tiles and she almost slipped over with only the light push that she was given, but it was exactly what the sergeant needed to be able to grab John, who been distracted by trying to help Amelia. The sergeant grabbed John's arm and twisted it behind his back, keeping him in place.

"What?" John's eyes widened, looking worriedly over to Amelia, who had managed to right herself by grabbing a wall, though even she looked a little unsettled by the near fall. He looked quickly back across to Reed, "No, no! I'm a…I'm a doctor," he tried to tell him urgently.

"Oh, you're a doctor now, too," Reed scoffed, "Sergeant…" he jerked his head back over towards the door.

"Let me examine him, _please_!"

"He's telling the truth!" Amelia spun back around to glare at Reed, throwing John a hurried look as he was dragged away and over towards the door. She looked frantically back to Reed, "This is completely absurd. We're just trying to help!"

The locker room door swung open and another sergeant stepped into the room, pulling Sherlock along with him with his hands held behind his back. Amelia sighed relief at the sight of Sherlock, but it was short lived as she watched him be pulled further into the room, his eyes coming to land on Bainbridge's body.

"Sir," the new sergeant said to Reed, glancing at Sherlock, who was completely ignoring everyone else but the body on the floor, "Caught this one snooping around".

Reed looked straight back over to Amelia and John, "Is that what this was all about?" he demanded, glaring at the two of them, "Distracting me so that _this_ man could get in here and kill Bainbridge?"

"Don't be…" John began, shaking his head.

"That's completely ridiculous!" Amelia exclaimed, glaring right back at Reed. She took a step closing towards him, ignoring the bloody water and the crutching glass that she had just stepped in, "For starters, it makes no logical sense".

"Exactly," Sherlock agreed, looking back across to Reed, who was blinking in surprise, "Kill him with what?" he raised his eyebrows at him, "Where's the weapon?"

"What?" Reed stared at him, confused.

"Where's the weapon?" he repeated calmly, "Go on, search me," he held out his arms, the sergeant holding him letting him go. He looked back Reed, "No weapon".

"Bainbridge was on parade," John cut in loudly, drawing everyone's attention over to him, "He came off duty five minutes ago. When's this supposed to have happened?"

Reed looked accusingly back over to Sherlock, "You obviously stabbed him before he got in the shower," he pointed at him.

"No," Sherlock replied at once.

"Oh, honestly," Amelia rolled her eyes, well and truly over all of this. There was a man who was lying dead before them and not one of them had even checked the body, as far as she knew.

"No?" Reed stared at him in disbelief, his eyes widening. Clearly he wasn't used to hearing someone talk back to him.

Sherlock's eyes were fixed on Bainbridge's body, "He's soaking wet and there's still shampoo in his hair," he informed them, casting his eyes carefully over the rest of the scene, "He got into the shower and _then_ someone stabbed him".

"Obviously," Amelia gave Reed a pointed look, not caring about if she was being rude or not, not now, "Anyone who has eyes and actually _looked_ could see that".

"The cubicle was locked from the inside, sir," the first sergeant, who was holding John, said to Reed, "I had to break it open".

"You must have climbed over the top," Reed insisted, still pointing at Sherlock. Amelia scoffed and shook her head.

Sherlock threw him a sarcastic look, growing just as annoyed as Amelia, "Well, then I'd be soaking wet too, wouldn't I?"

"Major, please," John suddenly called, unable to stand by any longer, making everyone look at him, "I'm John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," he began speaking faster, glaring back across to Reed, "Three years Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart's bloody Hospital," his tone grew firmer, "Let me examine this body," Reed glanced back down to the body for a moment, thinking carefully before looking back up to John and, with a frustrated huff, gave the sergeant holding John a sharp nod. The man released John and stepped back as John reached up to pull his jacket off, "Thank you," he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, walking over to a nearby bench and dropping his coat onto it, before turning back to crouch beside the body.

The first sergeant stepped closer to Sherlock as they all watched John set to work, Amelia putting her handbag down on the floor that hadn't been touched by bloody water and carefully moved to crouch on the other side of the body, balancing on her heels, careful to try and keep her skirt and coat above the water. She didn't have a medical degree, nor was she a nurse, but she had a pretty good grasp of the human body and how it worked, so if John needed help in his examination, she would be more than happy to try and help. She used to occasionally help Molly when Bart's was short staffed, not that she really did much, but observing Molly work had taught her a few things.

"Suicide?" the first sergeant suggested to Sherlock, speaking quietly.

"No," Sherlock shook his head, glancing at him, "The weapon again, no knife," he walked over to take a closer look at the front of the shower cubical, bending down slightly as he quickly cast his eyes over the space before he tossed his coat back and knelt down by Bainbridge's head, reaching out to examine the man's soaking wet hand for any clues as to what might have happened to him.

"Anything?" Amelia asked curiously, watching John as he moved further down Bainbridge's body to start examine the bleeding wound on the man's lower back.

"Hmm," John hummed thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed slightly as he reached out to touch a spot that was slightly on the side of Bainbridge's waist, the spot seeming to have the most blood surrounding it, "There is a wound to the abdomen, incredibly fine," he informed her.

Amelia craned her neck slightly to try and see for herself without accidently overbalancing herself on her heels, but she still couldn't make out much from all the blood, "Interesting," she nodded slowly, her mind buzzing with ideas, "So it wasn't an ordinary weapon then, possibly something homemade?" she glanced back over to Sherlock, who was looking at her thoughtfully, "But what, exactly? And where on Earth did it go?" she frowned, throwing the shower cubicle a quick look, but there was clearly nothing hidden in the shattered glass and the soap didn't look like it had been turned into a prison shank, somehow she thought that that would be too easy.

"Man stabbed to death," Sherlock commented, still looking at Amelia, "No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside," he stood and moved around to kneel beside her, frowning slightly, "Only one way in or out of here".

"Ah, a good old fashioned locked door mystery," she said quietly to him, not wishing for the others to hear. She didn't want to seem disrespectful. The corner of her mouth rose as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, "It must be Christmas".

He smiled faintly, meeting her eyes, "I've been a bad influence on you".

"Oh, I've always been bad, Holmes. Being an angel is boring; a dash of the devil has always been more fun".

Sherlock actually blinked at her, looking surprised with her. Flirting at a crime scene, that was usually an unspoken rule between them that the moment they were at a crime scene, they were simply professional partners and friends, but nothing more. Their work came first, they had both agreed on that from the very start, so for Amelia to be completely ignoring that was a little surprising. It was also increasingly harder for him to be able to ignore the other impulses that came from her saying something like _that_ and she knew it, judging from the little smirk on her face and the tiny wink she gave him as she casually turned back to watch John examine the body. How the hell was he even meant to respond to something like that at a crime scene, let alone around others?

John was completely oblivious to anything going on as he moved up to Bainbridge's head, carefully pulling his eyelid up to see his eye, "Sherlock," he said suddenly, "Amelia".

"Mmm?" Sherlock hummed distractedly, pulling his eyes off Amelia.

"What is it?" Amelia asked with a small frown, noticing something off about John's voice.

"He's still breathing".

"Oh my God!" the first sergeant gasped, looking shocked as Reed stepped closer, looking just as dumfounded.

Amelia's eyes widened, horrified, "No one even check his pulse?" she exclaimed, her head snapping up to stare at the man, unable to believe that no one had even tried to see if the man was dead. They had been standing there while Bainbridge had been slowly bleeding to death, when they could have done something sooner. She was appalled.

Sherlock looked hurriedly back to John, "What do we do?" he asked urgently.

"Give me your scarf," John told him at once, focused on Bainbridge.

"What?" he blinked, confused.

"Quickly, _now_!"

Amelia didn't wait for Sherlock to even blink before she was suddenly turning on him, grabbing his scarf from around his neck and frantically untying it, ignoring his startled grunt. She let herself drop onto her knees, not caring about getting her clothing wet as she handed the scarf quickly over to John.

John looked back up to Reed and his men, pressing the scarf against the wound on Bainbridge's back, "Call an ambulance," he ordered them, turning back to Bainbridge.

"What?" the second sergeant questioned.

"Call an ambulance now," he said again, his voice growing louder and he pointed with his free hand over towards the door. The men hesitated, still looking rather shocked. He glared at them, " _Do it_!" Both sergeants ran for the door and disappeared outside, while John pressed the scarf harder against the wound. He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand, positioning it onto the scarf to hold it in place for him, making Sherlock blink and look back to him in surprise, "Nurse, press here," he instructed him firmly, "Hard".

Sherlock pulled a face, not seeming to be overly impressed, "'Nurse?'" he repeated in distaste.

"Yeah, I'm making do," John glanced back up to him, speaking fast, "Keep pressure on that wound".

"What can I do?" Amelia asked quickly, eager to do whatever she could to try and help.

"Amelia, I need you to monitor his pulse," he told her.

She nodded and immediately grabbed Bainbridge's arm, pressing her fingertips against his pulse point as she took careful note of each beat. It was faster then it ought to be, she knew what that meant, "He's in shock," she said worriedly, swallowing nervously, "My God, he's lost so much blood…"

John moved closer to Bainbridge's head, leaning closer to him, "Stephen," he called to him, a note of urgency entering his voice, "Stephen, stay with me…"

….…. _ **Present, wedding reception**_ …..….

"Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty," Sherlock told the room, looking around at the guests as the entire room listened intently to every word that he said, "He'd stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon," he raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice slightly, almost dramatically. Amelia smiled slightly, amused, "Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish, but in all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable," he paused, casting his eyes around the room, "Would anyone like to make a guess?"

The guests looked at him blankly; some shifting in their seats while others exchanged shrugs with those sitting at their tables.

"Come on, come on," he urged them, sighing slightly when no one said a thing or made even the slightest attempt, "There is actually an element of Q and A to all this," he cleared his throat, pausing for a moment, waiting. Still, no one said a word, "Scotland Yard," he looked directly at Lestrade, who slowly lifted his head, "Have you got a theory? Yeah, _you_ ," he rolled his eyes as Lestrade stared back at him blankly, making Amelia smile, "You're a detective, broadly speaking. Got a theory?"

"Er, um…" Lestrade crossed his arms across his chest and shifted slightly in his chair, "If the, uh, if the…" Amelia bit her lip, it was almost physically painful watching Lestrade desperately trying to come up with an answer, "If-if-if…if the blade was, er, propelled through the, um…" he paused, considering his words carefully, "…grating in the air vent…maybe a-a ballista or a….or a…or a catapult. Erm, somebody tiny could…could crawl in there," he took a deep breath, nodding, "So, yeah, we're loo….we're looking for a-a-a-a dwarf".

Amelia blinked slowly, looking back at the man as if she had never seen him before, while Sherlock simply looked at him blankly, "Brilliant," he said after a moment.

"Really?" he asked eagerly, his face brightening.

"No".

"Nice try, though," Amelia added hastily as Lestrade's expression fell, though she was finding it rather difficult not to laugh at how absurd his theory had sounded. Still, she supposed that considering of the cases that they had worked on in the past, a dwarf murdering a man in a shower by climbing through an air vent really wasn't so hard to imagine.

"Next!" Sherlock called, turning his attention to the rest of the room.

"He stabbed himself…" Tom was whispering to Molly as he sat beside her, smiling as if it ought to be the most obvious answer. The room was so silent that even his whisper was easily heard.

"Hello?" he raised his eyebrows, trying to locate the voice, "Who was that?" Amelia cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her and nodded over to Tom, who had jumped slightly and was looking back over to Sherlock, his eyes widening slightly at being caught, "Tom," he focused on the man, who slowly pushed back his chair, causing it to scrape loudly against the floor as he stood awkwardly. Sherlock grimaced and forced a polite smile onto his face at the warning look that Amelia shot him out of the corner of his eye, "Got a theory?"

"Um…" Tom shifted slightly on the spot as all eyes turned on him, well, almost all. Molly seemed to have become quite interested in the flower arrangement sitting in the middle of their table, "Attempted suicide," he began, swallowing nervously, "With a blade made of compacted blood and bone, broke after piercing his abdomen…like a meat…dagger".

Several guests laughed quietly, while Molly closed her eyes briefly as if she wished the ground would just open up and swallow her. Amelia frowned faintly and cast Sherlock's back a slightly wary look, very much hoping he would remember to behave himself. It really wouldn't look very good if the best man started insulting the intelligence of John and Mary's guests, no matter how tempting it might be to do so.

Sherlock stared back at Tom, "A meat dagger," he repeated slowly.

He shifted again, nodding, "Yes".

"Sit. _Down_ ," Molly said through gritted teeth, refusing to look at him.

Amelia gave Tom a slightly strained smile as he awkwardly sat back down, "Not quite," she said lightly, "But good thinking. Very…er, imaginative".

"That's one word for it," Sherlock muttered to her out of the corner of his mouth, casting Tom a long look. Amelia cleared her throat and shifted slightly sideways in her chair to be able to lightly kick his shoe, meeting his eyes with a warning look. He sighed heavily, looking back the rest of the room, "There was _one_ feature," he went on, getting back on track, "And _only_ one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson who, while Amelia and I were trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life".

Amelia smiled and looked around Sherlock to John and Mary, her smile growing wider as she noticed them both smiling happily, John a little embarrassedly as he ducked his head slightly.

"There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling," he continued, looking back down to John, "The best and bravest man I know, and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff…" John laughed embarrassedly, his head still bowed as Amelia smiled, nodding in agreement with every word Sherlock said, "Except wedding planning and serviettes, he's rubbish at those," he joked lightly.

"True," John agreed, holding up a finger and nodding as the guests laughed.

"Not to mention questionable fashion choices," Amelia added with a teasing tone in her voice, making John laugh again and point down the table to her. She still hadn't forgotten their many trips to clothing stores in preparation for the wedding; she had taken it upon herself to be John's fashion guide throughout the whole process, pointing out to him quite happily that he could hardly wear one of his jumpers on his wedding day and eagerly forcing him to try on as many suits and ties as she could. She had to admit; she may or may not have been dying to get the chance to force John to go clothing shopping with her.

Sherlock smiled slightly and cleared his throat as the guest's laughter died down, "The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly-planned murder, or attempted murder, I've ever had the pleasure to encounter," he said to the room, going on with his speech, "The most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I'm not just here to praise John, I'm also here to embarrass him as Amelia so kindly reminded me several times…" he glanced back to Amelia with his eyebrows raised, making her blush slightly. She had been a little eager, perhaps, for Sherlock to include some funny stories about John, "So let's move on to some…" he turned back to the room.

"No," Lestrade cut in, frowning slightly in confusion, "No, wait, so how was it…how was it done?"

"How was what done?" he asked, looking across to him.

"The stabbing".

Sherlock slowly looked away from him and down the table before him, fiddling with the cue cards in his hands for a moment. Amelia sighed heavily and reached out to take a sip of her champagne, resisting against the urge to take his hand, knowing that this was a bit of a sensitive issue for Sherlock, not that she could blame him. She understood how he felt very well, but Sherlock seemed to feel it more so then she did.

"I'm afraid we don't know," Sherlock finally admitted, reluctantly looking back up, "We didn't solve that one. That's…" he paused, sighing, "It can happen sometimes. It's very…very disappointing," he glanced back to Amelia, who gave him a sympathetic smile. He nodded to her and turned back to the room, brightening slightly, "Embarrassment leads me to the stage night," he went on, almost eagerly, not wishing to dwell on their failed case anymore, "Of course there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits".

Amelia sighed slightly and took another, slightly larger drink from her champagne glass. Oh, this was going to be simply mortifying, wasn't it?

 _ **Wow, so much can change in two weeks, I mean, we've got a new Doctor! And she's a woman, too. I have to admit, I was quite distracted while I was editing this chapter with both Doctor Who and Game of Thrones, so I apologies if there are any really big mistakes that I completely missed. As always, Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr and a link will also be on my profile.**_

 _ **Next chapter…the stage night! Need I really say more? Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_

 _ **Guest reviews:**_

 _ **Vampiregirl:**_ _ **Aww, I'm so glad that you're enjoying the story, I'm having so much fun writing season 3. I think it's probably the most fun I've had while writing for Sherlock. I'll try, trying to find a balance between writing this story and my Doctor Who one can be a bit tricky sometimes, but I'll try. Thanks for the review :)**_

 _ **Guest:**_ _ **I'm so glad you liked it, I hope you liked this chapter just as much. Thanks for the review :)**_


	12. Chapter 12 The Sign of Three, Part 4

_**The Sign of Three, Part 4**_

"Murder scenes?" Molly repeated, looking up from her microscope in her laboratory to Sherlock as he stood a few steps away from her. He had just finished explaining to her his plan for John's stag night. She had been mildly surprised to see Sherlock without Amelia, usually it was the other way around, but apparently the brunet was busy seeing her real estate agent about renting her cottage in Yorkshire, "Locations of…murders?" she frowned slightly.

"Mmmm," Sherlock hummed in confirmation, his hands in his coat pockets, "Pub crawl. Themed," he shrugged slightly, "It was Amelia's idea that it should be themed, though she seemed to prefer the idea of a 1920's theme," he rolled his eyes, but there was a touch of fondness in his face as his expression softened "Any excuse to buy a new dress".

She nodded slowly, "A 1920's theme sounds nice…."

"But she later agreed that murder scenes would be better," he cut across her, hardly seeming to even be really listening, "She conceded that it was far more 'our style'".

"Right," she blinked slightly, "But why can't you just do Underground stations?"

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, "Lacks the personal touch," he remarked, shaking his head at her, "We're going to go for a drink in every street where we…"

"Every street where you found a corpse," Molly finished his sentence, nodding in understanding, "Delightful," she said sarcastically, pulling her latex gloves off as she turned to face him properly, raising her eyebrows, "Where do _I_ come in?"

"Don't want to get ill. That would ruin it, spoil the mood".

She frowned, eyeing him, "You're a graduate chemist, can't you just work it out?"

"I lack the personal experience," he replied, giving her a small smile.

Molly stared back at him for a moment, her expression growing harder, "Meaning you think I like a drink," she said flatly.

"Occasionally," he agreed, practically able to hear Amelia's warning voice in his head, telling him to stop talking right now. He decided to ignore that voice and went on, "I know for a fact that you and Amelia have a glass of wine or two on your so called monthly 'girl nights'".

She narrowed her eyes, "And that makes me a drunk?" she questioned slowly.

"No," Sherlock said hurriedly, inwardly grimacing as he pictured Amelia whacking his arm, "No!" he looked away from her, feeling slightly uncomfortable as Molly continued to look at him. He needed to say something, anything, really, before he ended up making this even worse and then had to deal with Amelia's fury for upsetting her friend. He looked back to Molly, meeting her eyes, "You look…well," he forced out, unable to come up with anything else to say.

Molly, thankfully, broke into a small smile, "I am".

"How's…" he paused, looking off to the side as he tried to think, knowing that Amelia would know and would have saved him all the trouble of trying to remember Molly's fiancé. She was far better at all this then him, things like small talk coming easily to her. He looked back to Molly, frowning slightly, "…Tom?" he tried tentatively, not overly confident that that was the right name.

"Not a sociopath," she told him, smiling happily.

"Still?" he nodded, feeling relieved that he was right and hadn't ended up insulting her…again, "Good".

"And we're having quite a lot of sex".

Sherlock blinked, startled slightly by Molly completely throwing something like that out there. Was that how she and Amelia talked? Somehow, the idea of Amelia sitting with Molly, discussing sex was a thought that was just a little unsettling to him, though he reasoned that it might be due to the fact that he and Amelia hadn't been…intimate together yet. He rather not think about his…well, girlfriend discussing such things with Molly, or any one, for that matter. He would have to have a word with Amelia.

"Okay," he cleared his throat, very much wishing to get off the subject of Molly's sex life. If she and Amelia wished to discuss it, they could but he certainly had no interest in it. He opened his coat and pulled out a large cream coloured folder that he had been hiding there, moving to place it on the white surface of the laboratory workbench, "I want you to calculate John and Amelia's ideal intake, and mine, to remain in the sweet spot the whole evening," he said to her, flipping the folder open to reveal that it was filled with their medical records and personal health documents, including diets and weights. He had even thrown in their birth certificates for good measure, "Light-headed good…" he picked up a picture of Vitruvius Man with a photograph of John's head stuck over the original head, passing it to Molly.

Molly took the sheet of paper, eyeing it carefully, "Urinating in wardrobes, bad," she finished.

"Hmm," he hummed in agreement, missing the strange look Molly shot him.

….

Amelia sighed slightly as she leaned against the side of the raised bench in the pub that Sherlock had dragged them to, John standing beside her while they waited for Sherlock to return with their drinks from the bar. The night had only just started and she was already starting to wonder if letting Sherlock plan most of the stag night by himself was truly a wise idea, but she supposed that as long as John was happy, that was all that mattered in the end. Still, she was starting to wonder if she might be a little overdressed for the occasion.

She had worn a figure hugging berry coloured dress with straps and a cross over design that had triangle cut outs on the waist, revealing peeks of her skin. Her high heel shoes were a matching colour with an ankle strap and she had a small matching purse dangling from her wrist. She had brought with her a pair of sunglasses and tucked them away safely inside her purse, just in case they ended up running into any press. Her jewellery for the evening was very simple, just a pair of hanging berry coloured oval shaped earrings. She had, of course, gone with her favourite shade of red lipstick and worn smoky eye shadow, while her hair was braided in a German braid that wound around her head like a crown.

Dressed like this, she truly did feel like she was a little overdressed for a pub crawl, but it had been worth it for the way that Sherlock had actually given her a quick double take when she had first stepped into the living room of Baker Street. It wasn't very often she ever managed to get a reaction like that out of him, hardly ever, really, but she had been quite pleased with herself when she had caught his eyes taking her in, even for a brief moment before he seemed to remember himself. It had taken all of her self control not to burst out laughing with John having been there, too.

"Any idea what he's got in store for us?" John asked suddenly, breaking Amelia from her thoughts and making her glance back to see him eyeing Sherlock's back as he spoke to the bartender.

She lightly tapped her painted black nails against the wooden surface of the bench, smiling faintly at him, "Well, I know for certain that there isn't going to be any strip clubs or gambling," she told him.

"Mary will be pleased," he smiled slightly, looking back to her.

"Hmm, yes, just as pleased as me," she nodded, sighing slightly, "I told Sherlock that I would refuse to go if he tried to take us anywhere near a strip club or casino. Strip clubs are hardly my idea of fun, nor do I feel the slightest desire to go to one and I'm rubbish at gambling. Still, the two of you were more than welcome to go on without me…"

"Don't be silly," he cut across her, frowning sternly, "You're my groom's woman and one of my best friends, you couldn't miss my stag night".

She smiled widely at him, feeling quite touched by the convection in his voice, "Sherlock said the same thing when I suggested just the two of your going out together," she said quietly, casting Sherlock's back by the bar a quick look, "He was _very_ insisted that I had to come".

John smirked slightly, looking amused, "Who would have thought it, Sherlock Holmes managed to get a girlfriend?" he shook his head fondly, "And to think, you two could barely be in the same room without bickering once".

She laughed, nodding along with him, "Oh, I remember very well," she said, amused, "Well, I do have to admit that I didn't exactly try very hard to make him like me or to get along with him".

"And now you're dating," he shook his head, truly delighted to see his two best friends finally together, even if it was still a slightly odd relationship, but they were happy and that's what counted, "We should toast to that," he laughed, Amelia quickly joining in, just as Sherlock walked back over to them and sat a tray with their drinks down on it, "Ah…" he began happily, reaching to grab his beer glass, only find himself staring down at a tray with three long measuring cylinders sitting on it, two of which almost full of beer, while the third was filled with gin and tonic, the cylinder only containing about five decent mouthfuls of the liquid. He couldn't help staring at the tray in disbelief.

Amelia sighed heavily and picked up her glass, rolling her eyes as she looked quite disappointedly at the small contents of her glass, "Seriously, Holmes?" she looked back up to Sherlock, giving her cylinder a pointed little shake, not in any danger of accidently spilling anything, that was for sure.

"Women, scientifically, become intoxicated faster than men," Sherlock informed her as he took his own drink and reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out his phone, "I also calculated your body mass, which, even though you are taller then John is still smaller than him and used that to create a measurement for you alcohol consumption".

"Wow, you really know how to throw a _wild_ stag party," she remarked, slightly sarcastically. She hadn't intended to get drunk, of course, but being restricted like this was only making her want to rebel even more and get drunk, just to annoy Sherlock. Childish? Yes, very much so. Worth the hangover in the morning? Probably.

He ignored her sarcasm and started his stopwatch on his phone, before dropping the device onto the table. John sighed heavily and picked up his own glass, glancing at the phone to see the stopwatch ticking away.

"What, are we on a schedule?" he asked, looking back up to Sherlock in confusion.

"You'll thank me," Sherlock replied as he lifted up his own glass, shooting Amelia a pointed look, " _Both_ of you," he broke into a small smile as Amelia and John exchanged a quick look, lightly clicking his cylinder against both of theirs before the three of them drank.

It was going to be a very long evening.

…

And so they were off, going from pub to bar and ordering the same drinks with the same measurements as the first round, Sherlock still keeping his stopwatch ticking and occasionally pausing to check his phone, while John and Amelia simply sighed and drank their drinks. By the time that they reached the third pub, Sherlock seemed to be starting to be affected by the drinking as he grinned a little wider than normal at Amelia and carefully wiped his lips, while Amelia's Irish accent had started to become more pronounced and she had a slight pink flush in her cheeks that seemed to be growing darker and larger with each drink, though she was still maintaining to John that the idea that she could get drunk on so little was absurd. Privately, John was starting to wonder if Sherlock might have been right about his calculations, but he stayed silent and kept drinking his drinks, ignoring his own disappointment at the size.

By the time that they had made it to the sixth pub of the evening, the effects of the alcohol were truly starting to become more noticeable, mostly in Amelia, who was rather pink faced and smiling widely as she sipped her sixth gin and tonic of the evening, her arm thrown casually over Sherlock's shoulders as the three of them sat at a small rounded table in the middle of the busy bar area. Even Sherlock seemed to be starting to relax under the influence of the drinks; he was quite happily sitting with one arm wrapped around Amelia's waist, as if they always did such obvious displays of affection in public, his fingertips lightly grazing over the soft skin of her forearm, just above her wrist, for everyone to see.

John grimaced as he sat his empty cylinder down and swallowed his mouthful, and began looking around the room, his eyes a little blurry and unfocused as the loud, pounding beat of the music disorientated his head slightly.

"Over there," Sherlock told him, knowing what he was looking for and pointing over towards the bathrooms behind John.

"What?" he asked in confusion, leaning in closer to try and hear over the music.

"Toilets," he called loudly over the music, using his free hand to pick up his phone from the table, "Any second now, you're going to…"

John reached out to lightly touch his arm, cutting him off, "Hang on," he said over the music, "Tell me after, I need the loo," he let go of his hand and climbed off his stool.

"Mmm, on schedule," he commented, looking at the screen of his phone, making Amelia give the most girlish giggle that either of them had ever heard from her and for it not to be fake.

He paused, looking back to them, "Eh?"

"Nothing, go," he shook his head and pointed off towards the bathrooms again, using his finger to lightly tick something off on his touch screen as John, looking a little unsteady, turned and headed off. He locked his phone and blinked slightly as Amelia sighed happily, sinking lower in her chair to rest her head against his shoulder, her hot breath lightly tickling his throat and making him swallow slightly at the sensation.

"Sherlock," Amelia said after a long moment, shifting slightly to better position herself so that she could speak into his ear, not seeming to notice the small shiver that ran through his body, "Have you ever noticed how John looks like a Hobbit?"

He blinked, looking awkwardly down at her from the corner of his eye, "A what?"

She half giggled, half groaned in exasperation, "Remind me to show you 'The Lord of The Rings' later," she muttered.

He shifted slightly and she lifted her head, meeting his eyes as he reached up to lightly touch her cheek with the back of his fingers, lightly running them across her flushed cheek. It didn't seem to matter to his alcohol afflicted mind that they were in the middle of a very busy room and not in the privacy of Banker Street, that right now anyone could be watching them or that he disliked physical displays of affection. All of that seemed to be pushed back to the back of his mind as the urge to kiss Amelia right then and there became very, very appealing and he found himself wondering what the point of resisting against such an urge was. It wasn't the first time that they had been out in public and he felt the urge without alcohol being involved, but he knew that logically, he wouldn't have acted on that impulse without the alcohol there to relax him.

Slowly, he drew the arm that had been wound around her back up for his hand to rest lightly on her back, his eyes flickering from her red painted lips up to meet her dark brown, almost black eyes as they watched him curiously, waiting. He knew that she would wait for him to act first, she was always leaving it up to him to be the one to initiate physical affection in public and he was grateful for her understanding and patients, the way that she was always considering what might make him uncomfortable or awkward. He didn't need to think any more about it before his lips was crashing against hers, pulling her tighter against his body and very nearly sending them both off their stools.

Amelia grinned into the kiss and wrapped one arm around his neck, drawing him in even closer as she lightly nipped at his bottom lip. She couldn't help feeling quite proud of herself at the low groan that sounded from the back of Sherlock's throat. She forced herself to break away from the kiss, sensing that if they continued at the rate that they were going, the night was going to be cut very short and the idea of spending their first night together on an intimate level, while both tipsy, wasn't what she had in mind. She intended for them to both be fully sober for when that time came.

Sherlock cleared his throat slightly and loosened his hold on her, his pale cheeks colouring slightly and his bottom lip looking a little swollen. Absently, he reached up to touch the spot and shot her a glare that held no trace of anger or annoyance in it, "That was…unexpected," he said softly, his voice sounding slightly lower than normal.

"But very nice," she replied at once, smirking cheekily at him. She shifted more comfortable in her stool and grabbed her purse from where she had left it sitting on the table, zipping it open and removing a tissue. She quickly cleaned any trace of her lipstick from his lips before grabbing her compact mirror from her purse and checking her own lips, making sure she had smudged or needed a refresher.

John appeared again and walked back over to their table, not seeming to notice anything different with his friends as he took his seat. He looked a little more alert, though, no doubt after splashing some cold water onto his face. Sherlock cleared his throat and grabbed his phone, unlocking the screen.

"How long?" he asked him, looking down at the screen.

"Sorry?"

"You're visit," he clarified as John gave him a confused look, adjusting his jacket, "If you could estimate approximate volume discharged…"

"Holmes…" Amelia sighed, shaking her head in exasperation.

John held up his hand, giving Sherlock a stern look, "Stop talking now," he told him firmly, making Sherlock blink and look back up to them. He winked and sat back in his stool, exchanging a look with Amelia.

….

At the next bar…well, more like a nightclub then anything, John and Amelia took it upon themselves to go and order their drinks at the bar while Sherlock stood a short distance away with his back facing them, watching the patrons dancing around in the dimly lit room, music blaring so loudly it was almost deafening. Amelia felt like she was back in uni all over again, it was almost like coming home, only she wasn't surrounded by a group of admiring boys and pretty, rich girls. Personally, she preferred this to those days.

John carefully passed a small shot glass of top shelf vodka across the bar to Amelia, while he lifted his own small shot glass of whiskey up towards his mouth, "Ooh, er…" he glanced quickly back over his shoulder to check that Sherlock wasn't watching them, but he still had his back to them. He turned back to the bar and the bartended, "Quick, one more," he called over the music to the man, "He mustn't see," he threw Sherlock another pointed look over his shoulder.

Amelia smiled and picked up her shot glass, knocking the shot back like a professional, only just grimacing slightly as it burned the back of her throat. She sat the glass back down and watched as John gulped his whiskey down in one go, humming happily at the change of taste after only drinking beer all evening.

"Ah, this takes me back," the brunet remarked, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes briefly, letting the sound of the music pounding and the smell of alcohol wash over her for a moment. With her eyes closed, she could have very easily have been nineteen years old all over again, dancing on table in mini dress and six inch heels, flirting and snogging and doing much more with the cute boy that had come to chat with her. At nineteen this had been her life, and then her father had died unexpectedly and she suddenly found herself forced to take on the responsibility for all of her parents wealth and properties, even her father's real estate company become partly hers, though she had never been very business minded and never had any real interest in it. Real life finally hit her and she was forced to grow up, or at least start making smarter choices, though it took her a good while before she truly learnt how to do that.

John looked over to her as she opened her eyes, "Do you miss it?"

"God, no," she laughed, shaking her head, "If I had carried on like I did back then, I'd be dead by now. Probably from alcohol poisoning of an overdose…" she paused, shrugging, "More likely alcohol, I never did enjoy getting high, but I dabbled and had some fun doing so".

He shook his head at her, it never ceased to surprise him whenever he heard her speak about her party girl days, the girl that she would speak of that went out dancing on tables and having one night stands just didn't fit with the woman that he knew to be Amelia, who was more likely to be found curled up on her sofa at Baker Street in a pair of flannel pyjamas at night time, sipping a cup of hot chocolate and telling Sherlock off for his running commentary on her TV shows. She had grown up a lot since those day, she had changed and grown, learnt from those mistakes.

He pulled his eyes off Amelia and turned back to the bar, deciding that he was to tipsy to try talking any more on the subject as the bartender handed him another shot of whiskey and he gave him a grateful smile, pouring the shot into one of the already full cylinder on the bar before him. He picked up both cylinders as Amelia grabbed her one of gin and tonic, the two of them heading back over to Sherlock, but just before they reached him John paused and eyed the cylinders, unable to remember which one he had just spiked for himself. He frowned slightly and tried sniffing both, before he shrugged and simply moved over to the table Sherlock was standing beside, sitting one of the cylinders down for him. How much damage could one shot of whiskey really do if he was wrong, anyway?

"There you go," he called over the music to Sherlock, making him turn and pick up the cylinder, casually draping his other arm around Amelia's waist as John held up his cylinder to them, "Cheers," he toasted to them.

"Thank you," Sherlock nodded to him, lifting his cylinder up to his mouth to take a drink.

"Cheers, boys!" Amelia cheered brightly, her accent stronger than ever, holding her own cylinder up a little overly excitedly before taking a large drink.

…

By the time that they reached the next bar, Sherlock was completely smashed, his speech slurred and his movements sluggish and clumsy, more than once Amelia had to grab his arm to steady him, giggling loudly, almost as bad as him as she stumbled in her heels. Poor John looked like he was ready to curl up in bed as he sat at their table, one arm resting against the table as he swayed slightly in his seat, his eyes slipping closed briefly. Apparently, poor Sherlock was able to handle his beer, but one shot of whiskey on top of all the beer that he had already consumed was just too much for him to handle, completely throwing everything that he had so carefully planned out.

Of course, with most drunks, the three of them had ended up growing quite hot, so Amelia had dragged Sherlock off the dance floor from where they had been doing a very uncoordinated dance that probably would have been quite something to watch, but only ended up looking clumsy as they barely managed not to trip over each other, though Amelia was much better at it then Sherlock, and the three of them relocated themselves outside to the smoking area. Sadly, Sherlock had then decided to take it upon himself to deduce the type of cigarette that one man had been smoking, leading to a rather drunken and slurred argument as Sherlock was adamant that he was right, calling the man an idiot.

"I know ash!" Sherlock was shouting over the loud music, moving closer to the man that was glaring back at him, while John looked as if he was struggled not to close his eyes, Amelia trying to clumsily tug Sherlock back from the man, sensing danger, even in her drunken state, "Don't…" he started poking the man in the chest with each word, "Tell-me-I-don't!" and with the last word, he gave the man's shoulder a shove and he stumbled back slightly.

"Sherlock!" Amelia said warningly, slurring the words as John's head jerked up to watch.

The man suddenly came at Sherlock, swinging his fist at him, that Sherlock, by some miracle, managing to avoid and Amelia stumbled along with him. She gasped, her eyes widening before tears sprung into her eyes, "You almost hit my boyfriend!" she cried, her vision swimming with tears and her own intoxication. She didn't even know why she had tears in her eyes, it was all so confusing and her head felt muddled.

"Oh…!" John struggled up out of his chair, hurrying over to his friends as the man, thrown off balance by his own swing, stumbled forward and almost crashed into a table, but one of his friends moved to help him as John and Amelia, still looking quite emotional, grabbed the back of Sherlock's coat, trying to pull him away as he started flailing his hands around uselessly towards the man, "All right, enough!" he told him sternly, seeming to sober up a little bit, half carrying Sherlock with Amelia's help halfway across the room and over towards the door, "That's…" he grunted with the effort of trying to struggle with Sherlock, "Come on…"

"Stop fighting, Holmes!" Amelia groaned, the small spark of adrenalin that had run through her at seeing Sherlock almost getting in a fight breaking through the alcohol induced muddle in her brain, making her able to think a bit more clearly, "You don't have a chance against him in this state," she sighed, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist, half supporting his weight between herself and John.

Sherlock looked back across to glare at the other man, one of his curls falling across his forehead and hanging in his eye, "Ashtray," he pointed an accusing finger back to the other man, "I know ashtray".

Amelia giggled rather stupidly, planting a sloppy kiss to his cheek, "Yeah, you do!" she cheered proudly, making Sherlock smirk back at her clumsily try to straighten his jacket, though it only made him stumble more into her and John.

"Let's get out of here," John sighed slightly, blinking rapidly in a failed attempt to try and sober himself up, and lightly guided his two unbalanced friends out the door and out into the street.

…

Amelia snugged deep beneath her black trench coat that she had tossed over herself as a makeshift blanket, her legs stretched out before her and her feet now bare, having quite eagerly removed her shoes in the cab ride back to Baker Street, the heels resting bedside her with her purse. She was leaning back against the wall at the bottom of the stairs of Baker Street, eyes closed and her neck on an awkward angle, while Sherlock and John were in a similar state to her, curled up on the first couple of steps with their backs pressed against each other, John lying on his back and Sherlock facing the banister.

All three of them looked as if they might have been sleeping, having simply collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs rather than try and climb them in their drunken state, though Sherlock had been pretty convinced that he would be able to carry Amelia up the stairs, rambling on about it 'supposed to be romantic, right?' Amelia, even in her very compromised state, still had enough sense to know that Sherlock didn't have a hope in hell of carrying anyone up those narrow stairs, and had been forced to deny his tempting offer. She very much hoped she remembered his offer in the morning, though; it would be something good to tease him about being a romantic drunk.

"I have an international reputation," Sherlock slurred after a long moment of silence. Amelia sleepily opened her eyes and lifted her head to look back over to them, her half covered arm resting against John's shoes, watching as Sherlock shifted slightly to try and look over his shoulder to his two friends, his eyes half closed, "Do you have an international reputation?" he asked, settling back down again.

"I do!" Amelia called brightly; lifting a coat cover hand up before frowning in confusion, "I think…." she trailed off, pouting at her inability to remember for sure.

"No, I don't have an international reputation," John mumbled, barely even moving his lips or opening his eyes.

"No," Sherlock agreed, almost smugly, before he paused and lifted his head slightly, his eyes still closed, "And I can't even remember what for…" he tried to think for a moment, "Sss…crime…something or other," he sighed and tucked his chin closer to his chest, seeming to be more than happy to go back to trying to doze on the stairs.

Amelia nodded drunkenly, tossing her coat partly off herself so that she could reach over to Sherlock, lightly patting his knee, "Never mind," she muttered, her accent and slurred speech making it difficult to understand her words, "You know…I could have been a model," she remarked after another long pause, her hand still resting on his knee, "If I hadn't lost that agents card in Paris, I could have been famous…" she stopped, gasping in realisation, "Wait…I'm already am famous! But I can't remember why, probably my clothing. I love clothing…."

Sherlock hummed faintly, not lifting his head or opening his eyes, "You do wear pretty clothing".

"I bet that's it," she rambled happily, not even seeming to be aware of what she was talking about, settling herself back beneath her coat and closing her eyes. She sighed and tilted her head back against the wall, "Clothing and…other stuff, but mainly clothing".

"Yeah…" John grunted sleepily.

Silence washed over them again as the three of them settled down, dozing quite comfortably, when the door to 221A opened and Mrs Hudson walked out, carrying a rubbish bag that rustled slightly, "Oh!" she gasped, stopping short as she caught sight of the three of them.

Amelia's eyes cracked up at the noise, breaking into a dopy smile at the sight of the older lady, "Hudson!" she said brightly, clumsily tossing her coat off herself, "Now we can get the _real_ party started".

Mrs Hudson shook her head slightly at how drunk Amelia obviously was, "What are you doing back?" she asked, frowning, "I thought you were going to be out late".

"Ah, Hudders," Sherlock slurred, not moving in the slightest to even try looking at her, "What time is it?"

She checked her watch, "You've only been out two hours," she told them, moving past them in her slippers, heading for the front door with her plastic rubbish bag rustling loudly with every step.

Sherlock and John both jerked up, struggling for a moment to sit up properly, Sherlock even slipping down off the step to the one below the one that he had been sitting on, landing with a small thump. Amelia blinked, startled by the news that they had only been out for two hours. Even to her drunken mind it seemed a little absurd that they would be so intoxicated. It had felt like they had been out for _hours_.

….

After learning how young the night still was, they decided that perhaps it would be best to try and tackle the stairs, after all, so the three of them slowly made their way up, Amelia giggling uncontrollably when her bare foot slipped on one step and she very nearly found herself face planting the ground, but thankfully John had been standing right behind her and, while his reflexes might have been just as compromised as hers were, he still managed to reach out in time to save her from injuring herself, though they would later wonder how he had still had enough coordination to be able to do so.

Finally, after several more near misses from the three of them and much giggling on Amelia's part, they made it into the living room. John was more than happy to keep the drinking going and quickly returned from the kitchen with three glasses and a bottle of twenty one year old Irish whisky that Amelia had gifted to him two years previously, the bottle having been tucked away at the back of one of the cupboards and forgotten about after everything had happened. With their glasses filled with the amber coloured liquid, John took a seat in his old armchair while Sherlock sat in his own, Amelia dragging one of the dining tables chairs over to sit beside Sherlock's chair.

Somehow, they ended up playing the Rizla game in which players would write a person's name on a scrap of paper and then stick the paper onto another player's forehead for that player then try to ask questions in order to guess who they were supposed to be. Sherlock's slip of paper had the name 'Sherlock Holmes' scribbled across it in John's handwriting, while Sherlock had written 'Madonna' on John's own paper, his handwriting looking rather wobbly. Amelia slowly sipped her drink, waiting for her turn to come up, trying hard to ignore the slightly annoying sensation of her own slip of paper sticking to her forehead, both Sherlock and John having insisted that she go into the kitchen while they came up with her person. Had she been more sober, she probably would have found the idea that they, two detectives and a man who had been on almost every case with them, would be playing a game that was just another form of deduction, be it a rather simple form.

John slowly blinked, his eyes looking quite heavy and tired as he peered across at Sherlock and Amelia. He looked as if he was barely keeping himself awake, "Am I a vegetable?" he questioned after a moment.

Sherlock, using the hand that was holding his glass, pointed at him, "You, or the thing?" he broke off with a snigger as John and Amelia both joined in, Amelia almost dripping some of her whisky down her front in the process.

He blew raspberry with his lips, laughing, "Funny!"

"Thank you," he grinned, almost seeming to be bashful as he caught Amelia's eye.

"You're adorable, Holmes," Amelia smirked, leaning over towards him to lightly press her lips against his, though the kiss was rather sloppy and she pulled away almost just as quickly, toasting her glass at him as he pouted at her. Had they both been sober, there was no way that they would have acted like this and certainly not in front of John.

"Come on, you two," John cut in, waving a hand at them to draw their attention back to him.

"No, Jonny-boy," the brunet sighed loudly and rather dramatically sat herself more comfortably in her chair, "You're not a vegetable…" she paused, smiling cheekily, "That we know of, anyway".

Sherlock sniggered again and lifted his glass up, the two detectives lightly clicking their glasses together, as if she had just told a great joke.

John reached over to grab his own glass from the table beside his chair, "It's your go, Amelia," he told her, taking a drink.

"Ooh…" Amelia looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping her fingernails against her glass, "Am I alive today?"

Sherlock shrugged, looking completely blank as John rolled his eyes at him, before focusing on Amelia, "Yes, you're alive," he confirmed, before pausing to chuckle to himself, seeming to find that amusing.

"Hmm, am I…British?"

Sherlock frowned, leaning over the armrest of his chair to narrow his eyes at her forehead, "I don't know who you are," he frowned, looking quite confused, "John?" he looked back over to the other man, since he had been the one to pick the name.

John sighed loudly, waving a dismissive hand in Sherlock's direction, "Ignore him," he said to Amelia. He had explained who the person was and why he had picked the name for Amelia, but apparently Sherlock's drunken brain had completely ignored him, or he simply hadn't been listening, "No, you're not British," he shook his head, lifting his glass up to his mouth to take another sip.

Amelia nodded slowly, struggling hard to try and come up with another question. So she was alive and she wasn't British…, "Am I an actress?" she asked after a moment.

"Sometimes…"

"John".

"Yes, you're an actress".

She smiled, slightly more satisfied, though she still had no idea who the hell she was supposed to be, "Okay, Sherlock," she turned herself slightly in her chair to face Sherlock, her eyes brightening with amusement as her eyes flickered up to his paper, his own name staring back at her, "Your turn".

"Err…" Sherlock blinked slowly, trying hard to wake himself up a bit more, "Am I human?"

John lowered his glass from his mouth, looking back over to him, "Sometimes," he said again, the corner of his mouth rising.

"Can't have 'sometimes,'" he shook his head, pointing a stern finger at him, sounding slightly more like his sober self, "Has to be, um…" he struggled to try and sit up straighter in his chair.

"Yes, you're human," he replied as he sat his glass back on the table, sighing again and slumping back into his chair. He meet Amelia's eyes and even with them both drunk, she could see the mild hint of exasperation on his face.

"…'yes' or 'no,'" he continued finishing his sentence, "Okay," he nodded and leaned forward slightly unsteadily, bracing his elbows against his knees, "And am I a man?"

Amelia giggled loudly, "You bet you are, darling," she toasted her glass at him again, before taking another drink, finishing the last of her whiskey in one gulp.

"Tall?"

John held his hands wide, shrugging slightly, "Not as tall as people think," he let his hands drop, covering the corner of his mouth with his left hand.

"Hmm…nice?"

"Ish," he replied.

"I think you can be _very_ nice," Amelia commented with a small smirk, leaning over so that she was resting her arms against the armrest of Sherlock's chair, looking at him.

Sherlock looked back and forth between his two friends, "Clever?"

"Quite clever, yes," the brunet agreed, trying very hard not to laugh.

"I'd say so," John said, smiling from behind his hand.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, eyeing John, "You would?" he questioned, and John chuckled slightly, "Mmm, am I important?"

"To some people".

"I think you are," Amelia added with a cheeky smile and a wink in Sherlock's direction, not caring if she wasn't exactly playing by the rules, "And to me, _personally_ ".

"Yeah?" Sherlock's eyes brightened slightly as he looked back to Amelia, reaching out to lightly touch her flushed cheek, giving her a dopy little smile that would never be seen on his face if he was sober, nor did Amelia imagine that he would have quite looked at her like that if he hadn't been so drunk, with so much open affection. It was an expression that was better suited to some romantic book character, rather than the usually logical and careful Sherlock Holmes. Blimey, he really was smashed, wasn't he? All of his inhibitions were completely gone, leaving him completely relaxed and just happy to be free with his emotions, not caring about any feelings he might have on displays of affection or his usually more guarded and subtle form of affection that he would usually use when someone close to them, like John, was with them.

She grinned and leaned in even closer, until their noses were very nearly touching, "Yeah, _William_ ".

He sighed happily, closing his eyes briefly, "Did I ever tell you that I like it when you call me that," he mumbled, low enough so that only she could hear.

"No, but I will be sure to use it more often in the future," she whispered with a smirk, before she frowned slightly and leaned back from him, looking a little worried, "Oh, no, what if I forget? Like I did with the other thing…the famous thing?"

"Hey!" John called suddenly, making them both blink, slightly confused, and look back over to see him giving them the most exasperated look that he could manage in the state he was currently in, "We're not finished playing yet," he pointed up towards the paper stuck to his head to emphasis what he was saying.

Sherlock sighed loudly, looking slightly sulky about the interruption as he settled more comfortably into his chair, "What was I…oh, right," he nodded, seeming to remember exactly where he had left off in the game, "Do 'people…'" he made vague air-quotes as he said the last word, rolling his eyes, "…like me?"

John reached over to move his glass slightly further away from the edge of the table, "Er, no, they don't," he told him, looking back across to Sherlock, "You tend to rub 'em up the wrong way".

"Okay," he said thoughtfully, and John snigged slightly to himself as Amelia grinned, not even trying to hide her own amusement at watching while Sherlock tried to figure out that it was him that they were talking about. He sat further back in his chair, before his eyes brightened with realisation, "Am I the current King of England?" he looked back and forth between them.

"Are you…?" he trailed off, cracking up with laughter as Amelia quickly joined in, grabbing the edge of Sherlock's armrest to try and stop herself from toppling off her chair with laughter. Sherlock actually blinked at them, looking slightly surprised and confused as John shook his head, still smiling widely, "You know we don't _have_ a king?"

"Don't we?"

"Mycroft doesn't count, Sherlock," Amelia smirked at him, shaking her head as John continued to laugh, guessing just who he might be referring to.

Sherlock shrugged and sat back in his chair, "Your go," he pointed briefly to John with the hand holding his glass, before taking a drink from his glass.

John uncrossed his legs and sat forward, moving until he was right on the edge of his seat, reaching out to try and steady himself before he could fall off his chair by bracing his hand against Sherlock's knee. He used his knee to push himself back slightly as Sherlock glanced down at his hand. John removed his hand and held his hands out, shrugging, "I don't mind," he said dismissively as Sherlock shrugged in return, apparently not bother about it either, "Am I a woman?"

Amelia blinked, slightly confused by the question, before she realised that he was asking as a part of the game and couldn't stop the laugh from escaping from her at the rather odd image that popped into her muddled head, an image of John wearing a long wig and red lipstick. She couldn't help wondering how much more whisky John would need before she could try broaching the subject of getting him to try on some lipstick. She was positive it would make for a hilarious picture once she sobered up. But she wasn't the only one who seemed to find it just as funny as Sherlock looked at him for a moment, before snorting with laughter, giggling away to himself for a long moment.

"What?" John asked in confusion, smiling slightly as he looked back and forth between his friends.

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed, managing to stop giggling long enough, struggling to try and straighten himself in his chair.

"Am I…pretty?" he pointed up to the paper on his forehead, "This," he closed his eyes briefly as he propped his head up on one fist, looking as if he was trying not to fall asleep.

"Oh, no," Amelia sighed warily, shaking her head, but she knew that it would already be too late. There was no way to try and save John now from being lectured, she ought to know, she had been forced to endure one from Sherlock once before on the concept of beauty. She wished she hadn't finished her drink now.

"Err…" Sherlock began, taking a deep breath, "Er, beauty is a constructed based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models".

"Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?" John repeated, slowly blinking back at them, waiting. He didn't seem to actually listen to a word of what Sherlock had said, which Amelia thought was probably wise.

Sherlock scrunched up his face and leaned forward, trying to read what he had written on John's paper, "I don't know who you are," he finally said, shaking his head as his features smothered out and he leaned back, "I don't know who you're supposed to be".

Amelia laughed loudly, shaking her head fondly, while John looked exasperated, "You picked the name!" he exclaimed, pointing at Sherlock.

"Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers," he defended, flailing his hand over towards where the newspaper was lying spread out across the dining table, most of the pages in the wrong order after he managed to drop it while trying to flick through the thing, "Amelia thought it was good!" he turned on Amelia.

She shrugged, "Well, I didn't know that you didn't know the person, did I?" she rolled her eyes, resting her chin on the palm of her hand, while her elbow sat on the armrest of Sherlock's chair.

John slumped back in his chair, sighing loudly, "You're not really getting the hang of this game, are you, Sherlock?" he commented, shaking his head, "Amelia, your go".

"Fine," she said with a dramatic groan, starting to grow board of the game now, "Right, so I'm…alive, not British, and an actress," she surmised, wrinkling her nose up in an attempt to remember, it seemed like quite a long time ago since it had been her turn, "Obviously, I'm female, then. Hmm…older or younger than me?"

He frowned slightly, "I'd have to check, hang on…" he twisted himself slightly to retrieve his phone from his back pocket of his jeans, activating it. A few moments passed before he seemed to find what he was looking for, careful not to let her see the screen, "Older".

She nodded slowly, trying hard to think, but it didn't exactly narrow the list down, "Um…am I married?"

Sherlock made a funny noise at the back of his throat and took a drink from his glass, but John ignored him as he checked his phone again, before looking back up to Amelia, "Yes".

"Do I have any children?"

"Yes, one".

She sighed loudly again, falling back against her chair with a huff of frustration, "Can't I just give up now?" she whined, sounding like a child, even crossing her arms across her chest to further make her look childish, "I'm never going to get it".

John gave her a stern look, well, he tried to, being drunk didn't really help, "No," he turned back to Sherlock as Amelia narrowed her eyes, "Sherlock, your go".

"So I am human," Sherlock said slowly, nodding, "I'm not as tall as people think I am…" he sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, "I'm-I'm nice-ish…" he waved his hand around as he spoke, while John released a sigh and stretched his legs out, propping his sock covered feet up against the front of Sherlock's chair, next to his friends legs, "Clever, important to some people, especially Amelia, but I tend to rub others up the wrong way," he cracked up laughing, looking delighted as Amelia and John both sniggered, unable to stop themselves, "Got it".

"Go on, then," John smiled, watching him.

"I'm _you_ , aren't I?" he grinned and pointed back across to John.

Amelia closed her eyes briefly, "Oh, I've so had it with this game," she moaned as John shook his head at Sherlock, who blinked slightly, "Who's stupid idea was it to play this damn game anyway?" John cleared his throat pointedly, looking directly at her and she felt her already pink cheeks warm even more, "Oh, right…" she trailed off embarrassedly, coughing as she awkwardly reached up to peel the piece of paper from off her forehead and frowned down at what was written on it in John's shaky handwriting, finding it tricky to read it with her own unfocused gaze, "Aishwarya Rai?" she looked back across to John, who grinned smugly, "Isn't she a Bollywood actress?" she frowned, struggling to remember.

"Yep," John nodded as he popped the 'P,' looking very proud of himself, while poor Sherlock just looked blank, not having a clue what they were talking about, "You're a dead ringer for her, Amelia, only you have brown eyes, younger, and you're taller".

"My, Watson, I wasn't aware that you were such a fan of Bollywood films?"

"She was in 'The Pink Panther Two'".

"Ah," she nodded in understanding. That certainly did explain why John would know her, she really didn't take him for the type of guy to watch Bollywood films.

A knock on the living room door sounded, making the three of them blink and look up, just as the door was pushed open, "Ooh-ooh!" Mrs Hudson called cheerfully into the room as she stood in the doorway with a young, darked haired woman wearing a nurse's uniform with a black cardigan over the top of it, "Client!" she hissed at them, gesturing to the woman beside her, who gave them an awkward little wave.

"Hallo," John greeted the woman as Mrs Hudson turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Sherlock waved at her, "Hallo!"

"Nice to meet you," Amelia said brightly, just a little to brightly as she flashed the woman a wide smile, "Come in, come in," she urged, gesturing for the woman to come further into the room.

The woman gave Amelia a polite smile, "Thank you, Miss Wilson," she said, before glancing back over to John and Sherlock. It wasn't exactly hard to figure out who Amelia was, but as for the two men…, "Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?"

John broke into a broad smile and lifted his hand to point up at the card with Sherlock's name scrawled across it, still attached to Sherlock's forehead, all the while whistling through his teeth. Sherlock grinned dopily back at the woman as Amelia laughed.

…

Amelia blinked rapidly, desperately trying to sober herself up as she sat between Sherlock and John on the sofa, while their client, Tessa, sat on the dining chair that Amelia had been sitting on before, facing them from across the coffee table as she clasped her hands together in her lap. Amelia was trying, she really was trying to listen, but it was just so hard and all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and snooze. The whole world looked fuzzy; too, which was quite distracting and she couldn't help feeling like she was going to very deeply regret this the next day. She was definitely way too drunk to be dealing with all of this.

"I don't…" Tessa began her story, hesitating slightly, seeming to be a little nervous to be sitting there, talking to them, "A lot…I mean, I don't…date all that much…" she smiled a little embarrassedly as Sherlock shifted in his seat so that he was closer to Amelia and sunk down slightly, his head tilted sideways, his head very nearly resting against Amelia's shoulder. Neither of them seemed to notice, nor care about how unprofessional their sitting position might have been, "And…he seemed…nice, you know?" she looked more at Amelia then the boys.

Amelia cleared her throat, trying to give her brain a metal shake, but it did little to help, "Um…yeah," she nodded lamely, her speech sounding a little slurred. John wasn't doing much better, though, as he sat on the other side of her and blinked sleepily, smiling faintly as he tried to stay awake.

"We seemed to automatically connect," she continued, completely oblivious to just how drunk and sleepy the three of them were, "We had one night…dinner, such interesting conversation. It was…lovely," Amelia nodded absently as she snuggled closer into Sherlock's side, her eyes slowly closing before she managed to force herself to snap them open again, "To be honest, I'd love to have gone further…" she went on as Sherlock's eyes slowly slipped closed and his head grew heavier as it rested on Amelia's shoulder, when he suddenly gave himself a sharp shake and lifted his head, straightening himself as he gently guided Amelia, who had been leaning against him, slightly to the right of him so that she was no longer resting against him, jolting her awake in the process, looking back to Tessa as he rested his hand lightly against Amelia's knee, patting it almost apologetically, "…but I thought, 'no, this is special. Let's take it slowly…'"

"Wise," Amelia muttered absently, trying to lightly slap her cheeks to try and wake herself up, but it was in vain. Even as drunk as she was, she could already tell that she would be fast asleep within a minute if she put her head down and let herself drift off. Beside her, Sherlock leaned forward with his elbows braced against his legs as he folded his hands together beneath his mouth and John, shifted in his seat, trying to wake himself up, too.

"'…exchange numbers,'" Sherlock eyes began to drift closed again, swaying slightly, "He said he'd get in touch and then…" she paused, and looked down sadly, "Maybe he wasn't as keen as I was…" John shrugged vaguely, hardly seeming to even be awake enough to be listening to a word of what Tessa was saying to them, while Amelia struggled to keep her eyes open, every blink growing longer and harder to open again, "…but I…I just thought…" she grew tearful, looking more at Amelia then the boys by now, seeming to feel more of a connection to her, since she was the only other woman present, "At least he'd call to say that we were finished," she lifted her hand up to wipe her tears from her eyes.

"Oh," Amelia breathed, staring back at her, feeling herself starting to grow quite emotional herself. She would have jumped up to hug the woman, if Sherlock and John weren't in the way, as well as the coffee table, "You poor thing," she shook her head, blinking back tears, "You poor, brave, woman. You just take a moment".

Tessa sniffed and nodded, trying to compose herself as Sherlock looked at her, his face filled with sympathy and sadness for her. It was a look quite unlike anything Amelia had ever seen on his face before, when he blinked and looked back to Amelia's face, frowning in confusion and alarm, not seeming to quite know what to make of these emotions himself. Amelia gave him a comforting look and took his hand, smiling drunkenly at him as he returned her smile.

"I went round there," Tessa told them after a long silence, looking less tearful now, "To his flat," she looked directly at Amelia and Sherlock as the detectives focused on her…well, as much as they could focus on anything in their current state, "No trace of him. Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson…" she sniffed as her voice caught in her throat, Sherlock giving her a funny little smile as his eyes slowly drifted closed, Amelia blinking slowly, "…I honestly think I had dinner…with a ghost".

No one reacted as a small grunt sounded from Sherlock, who had his eyes closed and his head resting on the palm of his left hand, his right hand still clasped in Amelia's leg. Amelia was sitting back against the sofa, her eyes closed and her chin tucked into her chest as her mouth hung open slightly, while John's head was dropping lower and lower as he gave a small, sleepy grunt, his eyes shut. The three of them looked like they had finally lost the battle and fallen asleep, their soft, heavy breathing and little snores from Sherlock's direction the only sound in the room.

"Mr Holmes?" Tessa tried after a moment, staring at them, "Miss Wilson?" still, nothing happened and they continued to snooze peacefully, "With a _ghost_ , Mr Holmes and Miss Wilson!" she called loudly.

Sherlock's head slipped off his arm and he very nearly tumbled off the sofa, while Amelia jerked awake and looked around widely for a moment, before calming down slightly when she realised where she was. John didn't even flinch, just shifted slightly until his head was almost resting on Amelia's shoulder.

"Boring," Sherlock said quickly, straightening himself, "Boring, boring…no!" he pointed at Tessa, his eyes widening thoughtfully as Amelia gently nudged John, trying to wake him up, but he only stirred slightly and breathed nosily through his nose, rolling his neck, "Fascinating!" he looked back to John and Amelia, "Amelia, John… _John_!" he said sharply when he noticed John still snoozing away, frowning drunkenly as he saw the man leaning against Amelia, "Wake up!" he reached over to shake John's leg, making the other man try swatting his hands away as his eyes snapped open. Sherlock turned back to Tessa, "Apologises about our…" he slurred, and pointed back over to John, "…you know…thing".

Amelia blinked slowly, untangling her arm from John, "Um…friend…person?" she tried tiredly, giving herself a sharp shake in an attempt to wake herself up and try and clear the slow, drunken feeling in her brain. It didn't work.

Sherlock clicked his fingers at her, nodding approvingly, "That's the one!" he looked away briefly and cleared his throat, before turning back to point at John with a stern look, "Rude. Rude!" he accused, turning back to Tessa, waiting expectantly.

"I checked with the landlord," Tessa explained to them, "And the man who lived there _died_. Heart attack," Amelia raised her eyebrows slowly, feeling like this would be quite a good case…if she wasn't so plastid right now and craving a kebab, "And there we are, having dinner one week on," she paused to reach down to grab her handbag as it sat on the floor beside her, pulling it into her lap. She started rummaging around inside it, "And I found this thing online, sort of chat room thing…" she pulled out a paper printout and held it out to them, Sherlock taking it and holding it between himself and Amelia, "…for girls who think they're dating men from the spirit world".

"Seriously?" Amelia looked up in surprise, "Why on Earth would any woman want to date a ghost, anyway? I mean, the whole touching thing for a start would be a bit turnoff for me…"

Sherlock rose unsteadily onto his feet, cutting Amelia's drunken rambling off, "Don't worry," he said to Tessa, John fast asleep again, "We'll find him in ten minutes," Tessa broke into a delighted smile, "What's your dog's name?"

"Yeah, I'm there if you want it," John muttered in his sleep.

Amelia sighed and stood, wobbly slightly on her bare feet, "John, wake up!" she called reaching down to grasp his shoulder, giving it a shake, "John! Wake up!"

John jerked awake, his eyes widening slightly as he looked up at Amelia before his eyes found Tessa, seeming surprised to see her still there.

"We're meant to…" Sherlock frowned, clicking his fingers as he struggled to find the word, "The game's…" he waved his hand vaguely, looking back to Amelia, who just looked at him blankly, "…something," he turned and stumbled away, heading over to the hooks behind the door where their coats were hanging.

John's eyes drifted upwards as he seemed to be thinking very hard about it, when he looked back over to Sherlock and pointed at him, "On," he finished, getting it.

"Oh!" Amelia nodded, breaking into a broad smile as Tessa gasped in excitement.

Sherlock staggered back over to them, pointing eagerly at John, "Yeah, that, that!" he said grinned, before turning and heading off again to grab his and Amelia's coat.

"Okay!" Tessa quickly stood, her face bright with excitement, while John sighed and struggled to pull himself onto his feet, having to grab Amelia's shoulder to steady himself.

Amelia frowned slightly, feeling like something was missing, when she looked down at her bare feet to see her painted black toes, "Um, has anyone seen my heels?" she asked, looking around blankly.

…

Once Amelia's shoes had been located, apparently she had left them at the bottom of the stairs, she bundled herself up in her trench coat and grabbed her purse as she, Tessa, Sherlock, and John headed out and pilled themselves into a cab that took them to their apparent crime scene. The building seemed to have once been a warehouse that had been since been converted into flats, the living room of Tessa's mysterious date being quite large and open with exposed brick walls and high ceilings. The owner of the flat seemed to have been a bit of a collector of modern art and had several pieces scattered around the living room, complimenting the modern furniture.

Amelia's heels clicked on the floor as she managed to walk without falling over, even in her drunken state. Years of nightclubbing in heels made walking in heels easier for her while drunk then wearing flats would be. She slowly wondered around the living room area, admiring the high ceilings rather than looking for clues, like she was meant to be. Those ceilings were very nice, though, and she wouldn't mind having something like that at Baker Street. Sherlock was kneeling on the leather couch cushions, his arms braced on the back of the sofa while he peered through a large glass plate of modern art that was sitting on a table behind the sofa, grinning drunkenly through the glass. He turned around and wobbled slightly before he sat in the middle of the sofa, acting as if he owned the place rather then investigating the flat.

John stood back a short distance away, leaning against a metal supporting pillar in the middle of the room, watching while his friends took in the space, "Ooh, it's nice!" he remarked, nodding as he turned to look over to where Tessa and another middle aged man, the landlord, were standing near the door, the man frowning at the three of them, "Nice place," he stumbled slightly, having to grab the pillar for support.

The landlord sighed in exasperation and crossed his arms across his chest, jingling the keys in his hands together as he did so. Apparently, he wasn't as oblivious as Tessa was and seemed to suspect that they weren't completely sober. Across the room, Sherlock stood from the sofa and began wondering around the room, his scarf not properly wrapped around his neck. He almost collided with Amelia as he staggered slightly, before righting himself by grabbing her shoulder.

"See anything?" Tessa called over to them, watching hopefully with a smile.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed, turning back around to look at her, confused. Amelia blinked slowly, glancing back over to the woman as well, pulling her attention away from the ceiling.

"Any clues, Mr Holmes?" she clarified, still smiling at them, "Miss Wilson?"

"Oh, right," Amelia said slowly, throwing John a quick look. He was leaning against the pillar again, with his eyes closed, "Clues looking," she nodded thoughtfully, straightening her coat, "Better get onto that…"

Sherlock blinked slightly, "Oh, errrr…" he turned his attention to the furniture around the room.

Amelia narrowed her unconfused eyes down at the coffee table, clearly a designer and expensive, but there was a funny greenish glass design beneath the glass of the table, looking like joined circles to her eyes, but they could very well have been separated. She supposed that was meant to be more art to tie in with the rest of the room. She couldn't say she liked it very much, glass coffee tables seemed a bit dangerous to her. She looked back up, casting the leather sofa a look, once again noticing that it was designer and expensive, though it did look rather comfortable and she really could do with a little lie down…she coughed, giving herself a sharp shake. She needed to focus; they had a case to do.

While Sherlock was looking at an armchair, she turned around to eye a very modern looking speaker system…well; she thought it might be a speaker system, either that or just more art. So the owner had been a fan of technology. She moved on to a skull of some sort of animal, pulling a face at the thing as she hurried away from it as fast as possible, finding the thing rather creepy. She didn't even try to figure out what the hell the strange, slender ornament by the window sill was, her eyes coming to land on a rather cool looking green egg chair. She was very, very tempted to sit in it, she bet if she sat in it on just the right angle, she could fall asleep in it very comfortably, but she regretfully pulled her eyes away from it to continue looking around. The rest of the room seemed to be rather dull with nothing more worth investigating, the only thing that seemed to be very clear even to her currently compromised brain was that the owner had been quite wealthy, a single male, and someone who enjoyed art and unusual furniture. It was hardly going to help them with their case, however.

Sherlock, who had been looking at Tessa curiously, wondered over to stand beside Amelia as he scratched the back of his head. Suddenly, he lowered his hand and his eyes lit up, appearing to have come up with something as he pointed at Tessa and shot her a smile, "I'm just gonna whip this out," he told her.

Amelia stepped back from him as he put his hand in his coat pocket, stumbling around in small circles around the room as he struggled to grab whatever it was from out of his pocket. He tugged his coat off himself while he was still searching his pocket, very nearly running straight into the landlord, who was forced to jump back out of his way, but Sherlock didn't seem to notice a thing as he finally pulled his pouch of equipment from his pocket, completely shedding his coat and dropping it on the floor in the process, leaving his scarf on. He paused to blink down at his pouch, before he unrolled it and pulled out his magnifier, carelessly tossing the pouch over his shoulder. He looked back to the others as Amelia moved closer, holding up his magnifier for them to see.

"Mm-hmm?" he hummed, sliding the magnifier open as the landlord looked back to Tessa, who gave him an awkward smile, John still appearing to be snoozing against the pillar. Sherlock dropped to his knees onto the white rug covering the floor, bracing himself with his hand against the floor as he wobbled unsteadily as he leaned down onto his elbow, so that his face was hovering over the floor, peering through the magnifier.

Amelia eyed Sherlock, her eyebrows raised slightly in amusement, while Tessa turned to John and gently touched his shoulder, lightly pushing him upright from the pillar, waking him, "You all right?" she asked him, smiling widely.

"Hmm?" John said vaguely, his arms crossed across his chest, "Yeah. He's clueing".

"What?" she frowned slightly, glancing at Amelia, who seemed to be watching Sherlock closely, not seeming to be listening to them.

"He's…hmm?" he nodded to her, looking very serious, "He's cluing for looks".

"Sherlock?" Amelia said in concern, watching as Sherlock seemed to sink even lower towards the floor, when he suddenly tipped forward, face first into the rug. She sighed loudly, "And he's out," she tried; she really did, but just couldn't stop the giggle from escaping from her.

"Mr Holmes?" Tessa tried, but Sherlock's didn't move or respond, his backside sticking up in the air, while snoring nosily into the rug. Amelia was laughing out loud, almost doubled over as Tessa cast the landlord a quick, nervous look before hastily taking a step closer to Sherlock, "Mr Holmes!" she called loudly, trying to wake him.

Still, Sherlock remained fast asleep.

"Oh, I'm calling the police," the landlord sighed, moving towards Sherlock.

"Oh, no…" Tessa began hurriedly, trying to stop him.

Amelia blinked as the landlord passed her and stepped over onto the rug, reaching down to grab Sherlock firmly by his arm, dragging him up off the floor, "Hey!" Amelia exclaimed, her eyes widening.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sherlock shouted indignantly, flailing his hands around as he was so rudely woken. The landlord let go of him as John held up a warning hand, Amelia taking a step towards the man with a dangerous expression crossing her face.

"This is the famous detectives," Tessa said loudly to the landlord, who looked back to her, only to blink slightly in alarm as he caught sight of the look on Amelia's face, "It's Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson, and their partner, John Hamish Watson," she gestured over to John, who had taken a step towards the landlord, trying to look as if he was backing Amelia up and failing miserably.

"What d'you think you're doing?" Sherlock stared up at the landlord, looking completely incensed over the whole thing, "Don't compromise the integrity of the…" he stopped suddenly and Amelia's eyes widened, realising what was about to happen, right before he turned back around and bent down, vomiting on the rug.

Amelia grimaced and closed her eyes, "Oh, what a highlight of the evening," she muttered sarcastically, trying hard to ignore the sound of him retching.

The landlord closed his eyes in disgust, while Tessa gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, seeming quite shocked. John, on the other hand, seemed to ignore the whole thing as he looked upwards, thinking very carefully about something, when he finally looked back to them.

"Crime scene!" he finished Sherlock's sentence, looking quite proud of himself as he grinned and held up his hand for them to high five him. Neither Tessa nor the landlord took him up on the offer, however, but Amelia, sighing slightly, did, mainly out of pity than anything else. Friends didn't leave friends hanging like that.

Sherlock coughed, drawing their attention back to him as he straightened back up onto his knees. He gestured over towards John with his magnifier, "Yeah, that," he agreed, his voice sounding a little hoarse as he clicked the magnifier closed and reached up to delicately wipe his mouth clean.

Amelia tried very hard not to look down at the mat as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "We'll…pay for the damage," she told the landlord tiredly, feeling like she could really do with another drink right about now…

"That's it," the landlord said suddenly, glaring at the three of them angrily, "I'm calling the police…" he turned and marched off out of the room, not giving any one a chance to try and stop him.

And to think the evening had started out so promising. How wrong they were.

….

The first thought that came to Amelia's mind as consciousness began to wash over her was that she must be in hell because there was no other way of explaining why she felt so bloody awful. Her stomach was churning and she feared she might be ill for a brief moment, while her head was throbbing and there was a horrible pounding in her ears, making every single sound feel so much louder. Even hearing her own heart beating was making her ears ring painfully. She could still taste the alcohol on her tongue, making her feel even more like she was going to sick. She needed to brush her teeth, badly.

She tried to push away the sickly feeling and focus on where she might be without opening her eyes, since she was little afraid of what she might find once she did. She was lying down on something that felt soft but had a plastic covering over it, judging by the way that it was sticking slightly to her bare arms and legs, so she wasn't in her own bed or Sherlock's, nor had she fallen asleep on the sofa of Baker Street. There was a chill in the air and she didn't have a blanket or even her coat with her, and apparently her shoes had also gone missing. Well, that was inconvenient.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, only to cringe and hiss in pain at the bright stream of sunlight that was shining through a high, bared window above her. Blindly, she reached out with her left hand and touched the tiled wall beside her, using it to help pull herself upright, not opening her eyes again until her bare feet touched the cold concrete floor. She was in a cell, an actual jail cell with the walls covered in white tiles and a large metal door that faced her, the room quite small and narrow.

"You have got to be kidding," she groaned, covering her face with her hands. It came back to her then, how she, Sherlock, and John had gone out drinking and then wound up going on a case while completely smashed. She recalled, vaguely, how Sherlock had thrown up in the middle of examining the flat that their client…she frowned, unable to recall her name, but she was positive that it had been a female. Well, after that, the police had been called and she remembered how the three of them had been escorted out of the building, Sherlock having to pause to be sick again in a drain before he had been loaded into the back of the police van. Could the evening truly have turned out any worse? Well, she supposed that she could have gotten ill, too. Small mercy that was.

The cell's door opened then, the sound of the lock being unlocked sounding like a gunshot to Amelia's ears, making her hiss a curse and glare up at the doorway to find Lestrade standing there, bright eyed and refreshed with an amused glint in his eyes as he paused to eye her for a moment. She would have payed someone a thousand pounds to be able to throw her heels at him right now, just to wipe that look off his face. No one had any right to be looking that happy when she was feeling so hung-over.

"Rough night?" Lestrade smirked, crossing his arms across his chest, clearly enjoying himself.

Amelia's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Don't," she said hoarsely, her throat stinging slightly, she suspected from all the giggling from the night before, "Just don't".

He laughed, "I thought you used to be a partygirl, Amelia?" he said mockingly, shaking his head at her, "And now you can't even make it past closing time".

She wobbly climbed onto her feet, having to grab the wall beside her to keep herself steady as the action made her head spin briefly. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to shove the urge to be sick away, "I'm not in the mood, Lestrade," she warned, swallowing hard and closing her eyes tightly.

Lestrade stopped laughing, though he couldn't stop the annoying little smile from twisting the corner of his lips, "I had a word with the desk sergeant," he told her, lowering his voice slightly, much to Amelia's relief, "You and the boy's are free to go," she brightened slightly at that, opening her eyes to look at him, "I thought you might want a chance to…clean yourself up a bit before I woke them," he meet his eyes and chuckled again, seeming to find something about her appearance amusing.

Amelia sighed heavily, imaging that she probably looked like a mess right about now, barefoot and still in the dress from the night before. She could already feel that her hair had come partly loss from her crown braid and her makeup had probably smudged, "Thanks," she muttered, making a mental note to thank him properly once she had recovered.

She made her way past Lestrade, who stepped aside to let her pass and headed slightly unsteadily down the hallway outside the rest of the cells and down to where the desk sergeant was, the small room filled with bright morning sunlight, making her squint her sensitive eyes and wince as she tried shielding her eyes with her hand, ignoring the odd look that the officer manning the desk gave her as she gave her name and was handed a piece of paper to sign off on to collect her things. The moment she had her shoes, purse, and coat, she grabbed them and headed off into the ladies bathroom.

The moment she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she truly couldn't have been more grateful to Lestrade for giving her a chance to try and clean herself up before having to face John and Sherlock. She looked terrible, smudges of black eye makeup surrounding her bloodshot eye, while her hair had half fallen out of its plait and slipped almost down to her eyebrows. Her lipstick had faded, thankfully, and she still very much wanted to brush her teeth to get rid of the taste in her mouth. She probably reeked of alcohol, too. Lovely.

She took the pins out of her hair and tucked them away into her purse, using her fingertips to untangle her hair and at least attempt to make it look semi okay, but she needn't have bothered because it was a mess no matter how hard she tried to smooth it. The makeup was even more challenging to try and wipe, using a damp piece of tissue to try wiping the streaks and black smudges, but without proper makeup remover it was proving to be difficult and she was forced to admit defeat after five minutes of scrubbing beneath her eyes until the skin was hurting, leaving it pink and with traces of black still visible, though thankfully nowhere near as noticeable now. She decided then and there that she was never going out drinking with John and Sherlock. Never again.

Sighing to herself, she pulled her coat on and slipped her purse into the pocket of it, pulling her sunglasses out of it first and popping them on top of her head, before buttoning her coat up to try and cover up the dress, desperately wishing she could get it off herself and climb into a lovely hot shower to wash everything away, before falling into bed. That sounded like a great plan to her hung-over brain. She was also starting to hate her heels, which were already starting to hurt after having worn them for half the night and the ankle strap was annoying her, but she had little choice and would have to deal with it, which she was pretty used to doing when it came to heels, but usually she was happy to put up with the discomfort for the look. Not today, not while hung-over and sleep deprived as she felt.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes came to land on where John was standing at the main desk, one hand holding his wallet, looking just as tired and pale as Amelia felt. Sherlock was with him, pulling his coat on with a sickly green colour in his pale cheeks and moving rather slowly. All three of them were quite a sight to see, Amelia very dearly hoped that none of the press would be hanging around outside to snap a picture of the three of them leaving, but thankfully the press seemed to have lost interest in them for the time being. Both men looked up at the sound of Amelia's heels clicking on the ground as she joined them by the desk.

"You look…" John began, eyeing her.

"Finish that sentence and die," Amelia cut across him darkly, pointing a finger at him. John coughed and promptly closed his mouth, seeming to sense that trying to test Amelia while in her current state really wouldn't be a wise idea. She dropped her arm and turned her attention onto Sherlock, who was watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. She couldn't help blushing slightly under his gaze, wondering whether or not he was recalling the small make out session that had gone on in one of the bar's during their night out, not to mention the slightly dirty dancing that had gone on and all the flirting, most of which having happened while in public and in front of _everyone_. She couldn't even begin to imagine what Sherlock must be feeling about the whole thing. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to push those concerns away, "Are you okay, Holmes?" she asked him.

Sherlock gave her a quick look, still looking quite sickly as he tugged his coat closer to his body, almost as if he was hugging himself, "Amelia," he said with a small wince, closing his eyes briefly, "My head hurts".

She blinked slightly in mild surprise, expecting him to try and pretend like he was fine or just fob her off, she certainly hadn't expected him to admit to actually feeling unwell and say something like that. She gave him a small, sympathetic smile and moved to stand beside him, gently pulling his left arm away from him so that she could take his hand instead, squeezing it comfortingly. Sherlock must have been feeling pretty awful, he didn't even blink at the contact.

"Oh, I know," she sighed, nodding before she quickly stopped, the gesture making her head spin for a moment and her stomach churn. She took a deep breath, trying to ease the nauseating feeling, "I think we all need to go back to Baker Street and have a nice lie-down".

"Good idea," John remarked, tucking his wallet away into his back pocket of his jeans. He turned back to them, clearing his throat slightly, "Well, thanks for a…you know…" he blinked slightly, his hair and clothing looking quite rumpled as the three of them turned, starting to walk away from the desk, Amelia slipping her sunglasses down to shield her eyes against the sun, "An evening," he finished, apparently unable to find any other way to describe it.

"It was awful," Sherlock muttered, his hand still in Amelia's.

"Yeah," he sighed, nodding as Sherlock groaned slightly painfully as they passed by a window, reaching up with his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Sherlock shot Amelia a small, half heated glare for having enough sense to think of taking sunglasses with her in her purse, no doubt a habit from years of clubbing, "I was gonna pretend, but it was, _truly_ ," John frowned, looking quite horrified as he thought back over the previous evening, all the things they had done…it was awful.

"I can't believe I got drunk of gin and tonics," Amelia moaned, feeling quite ashamed of herself. She was Irish, how could she have possibly have gotten drunk of gin and tonics? Vodka, sure, but _gin and tonics_? She didn't even really want to drink it, she would have preferred vodka shots but Sherlock had insisted that she had to have a proper drink and couldn't just do shots all evening. So much for his bloody plan.

Sherlock lowered his hand from his face, blinking rapidly with a small grimace, "That woman, Tessa," he said suddenly, making Amelia blink at him in surprise for remembering the name. She certainly hadn't, she was almost impressed.

"What?" John looked across Amelia to him in confusion.

"Dated a ghost," he continued as they turned a corner, walking down a narrow hallway, "The most interesting case for months. What a _wasted_ opportunity".

John blinked slowly, still feeling quite confused and a bit out of it as he shook his head, "Okay," he sighed, trailing behind Sherlock and Amelia as they left the police station.

 _ **And I finally finished the next chapter; I couldn't post this one until I had finished the next one to see what I would do with the end section of this chapter. Originally, it was going to be at the start of the next chapter, but it turned out to just be too big and I had to put it on the end of this one. I just couldn't help myself with the whole little game thing with Amelia's person; it was just too good to pass up on. Amelia's outfit will be on my profile and Tumblr, like always. Next chapter, what does Amelia enjoy doing when she's stuck in waiting rooms? Flashbacks and the best man's speech takes a turn. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	13. Chapter 13 The Sign of Three, Part 5

_**The Sign of Three, Part 5**_

Amelia couldn't believe what a difference a shower, fresh clothes, and two painkillers could do to improve one's mood after a night of drinking and other things that she rather not think about now. She was finally feeling more like herself, if still quite tired and a little queasy still when it came to food, but she no longer dreamed about collapsing into bed and she could actually think straight without her pounding head distracting her.

The moment that they had arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock had dragged himself up into his room and practically thrown himself onto his bed, barely even pausing to shrug off his coat and kick his shoes off before passing out on his covers. Amelia had smile faintly in amusement and gone up to her bedroom to grab her throw rug from off her bed, taking it back into Sherlock's room to drape it across him, lightly pressing a kiss to his curly head before she had left the room to go upstairs to collect some clothing for a shower. She couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for Sherlock, out of the three of them he seemed to have gotten the most drunk and, as a result, was no doubt experiencing his hangover even more painfully then either she or John was. She considered whether or not she ought to tell him that it might have been her and John's doing by getting the spiked drink mixed up the night before, but she decided that what he didn't know really wouldn't hurt him.

John had disappeared downstairs to see Mrs Hudson while Amelia had been tending to Sherlock, looking rather blurry eyed still as he trotted off down stairs. He still hadn't returned by the time Amelia had finished showering and stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in jeans and her favourite ragged jumper as she lightly dried her soaking wet hair with her towel, making her way into the living room. She was slightly surprised to see Sherlock there, his clothing fresh and looking brighter eyed after his short nap, sitting at the dining table as he looked at a computer screen, her laptop that he had managed to crack the password on…again. It had became a bit of game for them, her changing the password and him attempting to crack it, sometimes it would even take him an hour to figure it out. It was quite entertaining, strangely enough.

Curious, Amelia walked over to stand behind his chair to see him looking at a news article with the heading, 'V.C. Hero-The Unanswered Questions. Why Did My Boy Have To Die?' She raised her eyebrows slightly as he eyes travelled down the article to see a picture of a rather stern looking middle aged man that had a large scare on his face, appearing to be from a burn and dressed in a military uniform. Major James Sholto, according to the first line of the article.

"Doing research or just stalking?" Amelia asked after a moment, glancing at the side of Sherlock's face that was lit up by the glow of the screen. She was actually quite amused.

Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly, the back of his neck colouring, "Just curious," he replied a little too casually for Amelia to find believable.

She smiled widely, bending down so that her damp hair tickled the side of his face, the sweet scent of her vanilla conditioner washing over his senses full force with her so close and freshly showered. It was a smell that he had come to associate with Amelia; she typically wore vanilla perfume, 'Vanilla Exquise,' it was her favourite and whenever he smelt anything with a vanilla smell to it, his mind always jumped immediately to Amelia. It was annoying that she had managed to have that much control over him that even her perfume could have an effect on him and make his mind jump to her whenever he smelt anything remotely related to it. No one was supposed to have that much of an effect on him, it was completely illogical and he wished he could blame her for what a romantic fool he felt because of it, but for some reason, he couldn't.

"Hmm," Amelia hummed in a mock thoughtful way, turning her head slightly so that her breath lightly hit the side of his face, making his eyes briefly close. She smiled slightly as she took in his reaction, "So you _are_ stalking him," she smirked, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as he began to frown slightly, drawing back slightly, "Trying to check out the competition?"

"Amelia…" he sighed, his expression growing mildly exasperated, though he wasn't really annoyed.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry, William," she shook her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement that clearly said that she was enjoying herself. She straightened, placing her hands on his shoulders, "No one could compete with this head of curls," she lifted her right hand from his shoulder to playfully ruffle his hair.

He tilted his head back to look up at her, trying very hard to ignore the enjoyable sensation of her fingers toying with his hair, her fingernails lightly grazing his scalp, "Are you finished?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Amelia laughed fondly, dropping a kiss light onto his lips and straightening once more, "We are in a grumpy mood today, aren't we, Holmes?"

He looked back to the screen, eyeing the article distractedly, "I thought you were dying not an hour ago," he said absently.

"And you were practically passed out on your bed less than an hour ago; you're hardly one to talk".

Footsteps sounded on the stairs outside, drawing their attention across to the living room door, Sherlock quickly switching to a different tab on the laptop, the website title written across the page: 'I Dated A Ghost. Com'. Amelia, slightly regretfully, dropped her hands from Sherlock and moved to sit on the armrest of his chair, crossing her legs, just as John walked into the room through the open door, still looking quite blurry eyed and a bit pale.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "There are going to be others," he said to John as the man walked over towards the dining table.

"Others?" John repeated, confused. He frowned slightly as he caught sight of the website up on the laptop screen.

"Victims, women," he clarified, taking a deep breath, "Most ghost tend to haunt a single house, this ghost, however, is willing to commute, look," he stood and Amelia also rose, moving to stand between them as he brought their attention down to where he had laid out a map of London across the table top, several coloured pins stuck into several different places over the map, seeming to be marking out any of their suspected 'ghost date's' locations.

Amelia blinked, her eyebrows rising in surprise as she took in the map, "When did you do all of this?" she asked, shaking her head.

"You take forever in the shower," Sherlock said as he shot her a quick look, making her smile slightly guiltily. Okay, so maybe she _had_ spent a while in the shower, but the water had just been so lovely and she hadn't been able to help herself. He turned and walked across to the coffee table, where he had set up six different laptops that covered the table top, each one on the same ghost dating website, making both John and Amelia exchange a quick look as they eyed the set up curiously. He crouched down before the screens, his expression growing quite intent, "I've been able to narrow down the list of true victims from the message boards of the site," he explained quickly to John and Amelia as they came to stand behind him, "Gail, Charlotte, Robyn, and Vicky," he gestured towards the first laptop that was directly facing him, seeming to have already have been messaging with the woman, judging by the screen.

"Oh, I see," Amelia nodded, kneeling beside him to get a better look at the screen. He certainly had been quite busy already, already tracking down four other victims. It was impressive.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he knew what she was thinking and reached out to type something into the first computer, the page open onto the main message board, "How did you meet?" he muttered aloud, before hitting enter.

There was a brief pause before Gail replied, "'Came up to me in a pub,'" Amelia read for John's benefit, since he was squinting slightly at the screen, his sensitive eyes making it tricky for him to be able to read at the moment. She shrugged, "Pretty normal way, nothing overly suspicious about that".

"'Same gym as me,'" Sherlock said, reading the next message, this time from Charlotte, "'We just got chatting on the bus…'" Robyn replied, before moving down to Vicky's reply, a small little winky face at the end of her message, "'Online'".

Amelia's eyebrows raised, eyeing the winky face, "Well, she's a bit of a flirt, isn't she?" she frowned very slightly, though she knew it was silly to be feeling a little annoyed about that right now.

"Not now, Amelia," he sighed, his eyes flickering up to her briefly before he turned back to the computer, "Name?" he typed, leaning back to wait for their response. He rolled his eyes when Gail wrote back, seeming confused by his question, 'Told you,' " _His_ name," he clarified.

"'Oscar, Mike, Terry…'" she nodded slowly as they typed back, finding them all to be completely normal names to use, but when her eyes landed on Vicky's response, she couldn't help blinking and staring at the screen, "Seriously? 'Love_Monkey?'" she shook her head, glancing back to John and Sherlock, John looking a little confused by just what he was meant to be doing.

"Obviously a penname," Sherlock frowned slightly. Aside from the rather questionable choice of an internet name, the fact that their suspect had been using a penname was going to make it a little harder to try and track him down. He shook his head and typed his next question, "Your place?"

"'His place,'" all three women answered almost at once.

"Not surprising," Amelia remarked thoughtfully, "More control that way. He brought these women into his zone, under his control and preferred conditions, like a hunter luring their pray into the open".

"Hmm," he hummed in agreement, reaching out to type, "Address?"

All four women replied back with separate addresses, all in completely different areas of London and over quite a distance, but all of them seemed to be from an apartment. Amelia jumped up from the floor and quickly grabbed a pen and piece of paper, taking note for future reference. It was always a pain having to troll all the way back through messages on message boards just to find one simple bit of information. Taking note of it now would save time.

"'Nothing happened,'" Sherlock read aloud as Gail wrote another message, Amelia looking up from her note taking to see the screen herself, "'It was just…'" he pulled a slight face, "'…very romantic'".

"That's what Tessa said, too," Amelia recalled, scrunching up her face slightly to try and think back, her memories a little fuzzy still over exactly what they had spoken about with Tessa. She couldn't believe they had actually spoken to a client while drunk; she was quite horrified by the whole thing.

"She did, didn't she?" he agreed thoughtfully; narrow his eyes at the screen, reaching out to start typing again, "'Four women in four nights. He must have _something_ special,'" he wrote back.

"That is quite impressive," she nodded, her eyebrows rising. She actually really wanted to meet this guy now, just to see what was so special about him, not that she imagined that he would be able to compare with Sherlock. Not in the slightest.

"'He was very charming,'" Gail replied.

"'He listened,'" Charlotte added.

"'He was sweet,'" Robyn responded.

"'He had a lovely…'"

"You okay?" John asked suddenly, eyeing Sherlock's face as he stared back at the screen, frowning slightly. Sherlock quickly typed back that he needed a moment, before focusing back on John, who was looking over the coffee table, his eyes landing on a plate full of Sherlock's uneaten lunch. That was unusual, ever since Sherlock had started dating Amelia, he usually didn't skip meals anymore and would work while eating, if need be, "Let your food go cold," he gestured to the plate, "Mrs Hudson'll play hell".

"Not now, John," Sherlock said in mild annoyance, turning back to the computer as Amelia shrugged, not overly concerned about it. He'd probably heat it up later, he usually did, and she wasn't his mother. He quickly typed back, "'Sorry about that'".

"'He had a _lovely_ manner,'" Vicky finished writing.

"Fascinating," Amelia murmured thoughtfully, staring at the computer screen. This truly was shaping up to be one of the most interesting cases that they've had in a good while, "We have our selves a suspect that is going to great lengths to hide himself, using different names and addresses," she blinked slightly, a thought occurring to her as she glanced back to Sherlock, "Surely he must be also hiding his face, as well? He's gone to such great lengths already; it's the logical thing to do".

He hummed in agreement and typed back, "'Describe him'".

"'Short blonde hair,'" Gail wrote back.

"'Dark hair, long,'" Charlotte answered.

"'Ginger,'" Robyn replied, "'I like gingers'".

"'Couldn't tell,'" Vicky typed, making Amelia and Sherlock frowned, exchanging a slightly confused look as they turned back to the screen to see that she had added something else, "'He had a mask on'".

"Well, someone is certainly very versatile," Amelia commented, giving the last message a strange look as she tried very hard not to think too deeply about it.

"Amelia," Sherlock said suddenly, his eyes lighting up as a thought occurred to him, "Get the newspaper, I need you to check the…"

She gasped, catching on, "Of course!" she nodded, quickly standing and moving across to the dining table to grab the still rolled up paper, "The Obituaries, why didn't I think of that?" she paused and narrowed her eyes at Sherlock as he glanced back up to her, smirking almost smugly, "Oh, shut up. I can't bare it when you're smug, it's annoying," she muttered as she unrolled the paper and started flickering through the pages until she found the Obituaries, quickly scanning her eyes down the columns of death notices, "You're right, of course," she told him as her eyes landed on one of the death notices, "A Michael James Heaney died recently and he was single, judging from the little message written in here from the 'girls,'" she looked up to meet his eyes, "It would fit perfectly with Charlotte's mystery man".

He broke into a smile, that irritating little smug smirk making its appearance once more as he turned back to the laptop, typing as he began speaking, "'He's stealing the identity of corpses,'" he said as he tapped away on the keyboard, Amelia nodding as she found another two of the names that their victims had said belonged to their 'ghosts,' all the man seeming to be single and recently dead, "'Getting the names from the Obituary columns'".

"They all seem to be single," Amelia agreed, shutting the newspaper and moving to sit back on the floor beside him, watching him explaining it to the women, "And youngish, giving him a nice little empty bachelor pad for him to use with the dead men out of the way. Not to mention their identity".

"'Free love nest,'" he remarked thoughtfully, finishing his typing.

"'I feel sick,'" Gail wrote back.

"'It's gruesome,'" Robyn agreed.

"'That's awful,'" Charlotte typed.

"'Clever!'" Vicky replied, and Amelia blinked slightly, unable to deny that, though she certainly didn't approve.

One of the computers suddenly dinged, singling that someone new had just joined their session and posted a message, making Amelia and Sherlock turn their attention to another computer, "'Bastard!'" the message read, this one from Tessa.

"Oh, good," Amelia said happily, catching sight of the message, "Tessa's joined in".

Sherlock leaned across her, not seeming to care about whether or not it might be very comfortable for Amelia as he quickly typed a quick message back to her, "'Hello, Tessa'".

Amelia sighed, having to lean back slightly as he was practically lying across her lap to reach the laptop, "You do realise that I could have written that for you, right?" she said tiredly.

He coughed slightly and chose to ignore that as he straightened himself, though he did lightly rest his hand on her jean clad knee for a moment and gave it a little squeeze, almost as if he was apologising. She shook her head in amusement and watched as he focused back onto his main laptop, reaching out to start typing again.

"'Meanwhile, back to business,'" he said aloud as he tapped away, getting back on track, "'No-one wants to use a dead man's home…least not until it's been cleared. So…'" he frowned thoughtfully and paused in his typing, glancing briefly across to Amelia, who was nodding slowly along with him. He turned back to the computer, "'He disguises himself, steals the man's home, steals his identity'".

"But only for one night," John spoke up suddenly, making Amelia blink and glance up to him, almost having completely forgotten that he was still in the room, watching them work. He frowned slightly, "Then he's gone".

Sherlock glanced up to him, too, "He's not a ghost, John," he told him firmly, "He's a _mayfly_. He lives for a day," he turned back to the computer as Amelia frowned, trying to figure out why? What was the point of all of it in the first place? Why go to all the trouble and effort? He reached out to start typing again, "'So, what was it he was looking for?'" he questioned, seeming to be wondering the same thing as Amelia, focused on the computer, "'Job?'" he asked the women.

"'Gardner,'" Gail replied.

"'Cook,'" Charlotte answered.

"'Private nurse,'" Tessa responded.

"'I do security,'" Robyn typed back.

"'Maid,'" Vicky informed them.

Sherlock paused and glanced down briefly, before his head snapped up in realisation, "Obvious," he said quickly, "You all work for the same employer!" he moved to start typing on another laptop, bringing up some of the personal information on each of their victims that they had disclosed, be it through social media or the website.

"I'm not sure about that," Amelia frowned slightly, eyeing the main computer screen. He paused and looked back to her, raising his eyebrows expectantly, "Well, if they all work for the same employer, then surely they would know each other in their daily lives or even just in passing," she reasoned, making him blink slightly as he considered it, "It would be safer that they don't know one another, or that they haven't had very much contact with each other before, that way they can't make any sort of link. Their jobs would mean that they wouldn't have much reason to interact with each other very often if they did work together, but it still would be tempting fate".

He sighed slightly, seeing her point. He quickly finished up checking each woman's employment information, though, just to be safe, "Oh, no, not the same employer," he conceded after a moment, meeting Amelia's eyes, "Well done, Amelia," she flashed him a broad smile before he sighed and closed his eyes, trying to think. There had to be a link, a reason for why these women had been picked, "Come on," he muttered, "We can do this".

"I have an idea," Amelia said, making his eyes snap open to look at her, watching as she leaned forward and quickly typed, "'Amelia Wilson here, ladies. Tell me, what would be your ideal date?'" she hit enter and sat back, glancing at him, "It's a pretty general question, but it might give us a lead".

He hummed thoughtfully and turned back to the screen, waiting for the women to respond. They didn't have to wait very long.

"'Clay pigeon shooting,'" Gail replied after a brief moment.

"Ooh, fun," Amelia remarked in mild surprise, before shrugging, "Not that I'm a very good shot, mind you, but it was enjoyable".

"'Line dancing,'" Charlotte answered next.

"'Pictures,'" Tessa responded.

"'Wine in front of the telly,'" Robyn told them.

"'Dungeon,'" Vicky wrote back, adding a smiley face again.

Amelia shook her head, really not wanting to know as Sherlock gave the last message a frown. Well, that hadn't helped very much, but it seemed like the most logical and fastest possible way of looking for a link between the women. He reached out and typed, "'Make-up?'"

"'Clarines,'" Gail typed back.

"Oh, lovely," Amelia said with a small smile, "Though, I prefer Chanel makeup".

"Amelia," Sherlock sighed, shooting her a quick look. She grinned and stuck her tongue out at him, making him roll his eyes, though there was a slight lift in the corner of his lips as he did so as he turned his attention back to the computer screen. Not that he would ever admit to finding her childish gesture amusing, not at all.

"'No. 7,'" Charlotte had replied with.

"'Maybelline,'" Tessa responded.

"'Nothing special,'" Robyn wrote back.

"'Whatever's cheap,'" Vicky answered.

"'Perfume?'" Sherlock questioned, involuntarily taking a deep breath and having the smell of Amelia's conditioner hit him again, full force with her sitting right beside him and her hair still slightly damp.

"'Chanel,'" Gail responded.

"'Chanel,'" Charlotte and Tessa both replied.

Sherlock and Amelia's eyes lit up hopefully.

"'Chanel,'" Robyn added.

"'Estee Lauder,'" Vicky wrote, dashing their hopes.

"So close," Amelia groaned, running a hand down her face, feeling quite disappointed.

Sherlock sighed heavily, glaring at the final message for a moment, "'Ideal man?'" he typed, his expression growing set with frustration.

"'George Clooney,'" Tessa answered after a brief moment.

He rolled his eyes as Amelia laughed softly, "Oh, no," he muttered in annoyance. It was such a typical and boring answer.

"'Home-loving,'" Gail told them, grabbing their attention once more.

"'He'd have to like cuddling,'" Charlotte replied.

"'Caring,'" Robyn responded.

"'Ten things,'" Vicky began, "'One: someone who isn't competitive with other men…'" Sherlock frowned, looking positively horrified that he had to sit there, reading this list, while Amelia smiled faintly and pattered his arm, "'Two: someone who isn't constantly trying to define himself by his masculinity…'"

Sherlock sighed loudly and closed his eyes as Amelia, shaking her head, leaned forward so that she could reach the keyboard, "'That'll be enough, thanks,'" she typed quickly, casting Sherlock a quick glance. She could tell already that he really didn't have enough patients to be reading _that_ list.

He took a deep breath, giving Amelia a grateful look as he focused back onto the computer, "There's a unifying factor," he muttered, frowning thoughtfully as Amelia hummed in agreement, "There _has_ to be," he reached out to the keyboard, still frowning, "'None of you reported anything stolen. Security guard, gardener, cook, maid, private nurse,'" he paused, looking back up to Amelia, who was watching him carefully, "He's romancing his way up a pecking order, somebody's pecking order," he closed his eyes, "Come on, _think_. Unless…" his eyes snapped open, an idea popping into his head as he turned back to the screen, smiling briefly, "'Do you have a secret you've never told anyone?'" he wrote.

"Oh, I see," Amelia nodded, smirking slyly, "Very clever, Holmes".

It took less than ten seconds before all five women replied back with a resounding, "'No'".

Sherlock and Amelia broke into matching grins, looking at each other, "Gotcha," they said in unison, feeling quite triumphant.

"What d'you mean?" John asked from behind them, confused.

" _Everyone_ has secrets, and they all replied too quickly," Sherlock told him, shaking his head with a small smile spreading across his face.

"Everyone has something they're hiding," Amelia agreed, sighing slightly.

Another message popped up on the message board, drawing their attention back to it, "'Gotta go,'" Gail wrote before an electronic beep sounded, singling that she had just logged off. Sherlock and Amelia blinked, startled.

"'See ya,'" Charlotte said, just before she logged off, too.

"'No!'" Sherlock typed hurriedly, his eyes widening slightly, not yet ready to stop their questioning. They were so close to finding their link, so painfully close.

"'Bye-bye,'" Robyn logged off.

"'Wait!'" he tried, but it was no use.

Amelia groaned, "Perhaps we should have asked a bit more gently," she muttered, feeling quite disappointed. They ought to have known that they would panic and want to end the conversation; it should have been obvious, really.

"'Sorry, sexy,'" Vicky replied, giving them another winky face, "'Some secrets have to stay secret,'" and she logged off.

"'Enjoy the wedding,'" Tessa told them, before she also logged off.

Sherlock sighed in exasperation and grabbed the laptop lid, roughly slamming it shut and standing. Amelia actually winced at the sound as she also stood, glad it wasn't her laptop, "Why?" he glared out the window, beyond frustrated with how far they had come, only to be left still completely clueless, "Why would he date all of those women and not return their calls?" he angrily buttoned his blazer.

John smiled, looking highly amused as he eyed Sherlock's back, "You're missing the obvious, mate," he commented lightly.

He turned, raising his eyebrow, "Am I?"

"He's a man".

Amelia sighed, absently toying with the frayed cuff of her jumper, "Usually, I would agree," she said thoughtfully as Sherlock began roughly shutting the other laptop lids, "But it still doesn't make sense, even if it was a guy just having a bit of fun".

"Amelia's right, John," Sherlock said, still slamming the lids shut, not seeming to take any notice of the disapproving look Amelia was giving him each time he did so, "Why would he change his identity?"

"Maybe he's married," John suggested, shrugging.

He stopped suddenly and slowly straightened, his back facing them, "Ohh…" he breathed in realisation, staring off up at the wall-papered wall.

…..….….….. _ **Present**_ …..….…..…..

"Married," Sherlock said to the room as the guests listened to his speech, "Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity…"

Amelia raised her eyebrows, glancing up at Sherlock with amusement in her eyes, recalling the many times that she had watched him doing the dishes and even the one time she had managed to get him to do the vacuuming, though he had done it so badly that she had ended up having to take over partway through. He was hardly one to talk about trying to escape from the so called 'suffocating chains of domesticity'.

He continued on with the speech, not noticing the way that John sighed softly and shook his head, Mary giving him a little smile, "And instead of endless nights in watching the telly or going to barbecues with awful, dreadful boring people he couldn't stand, he used his wits, cleverness and powers of disguise…" he finally took a breath, breaking into a smile, "…to play the field. He was…" he stopped suddenly and frowned slightly, realising that the rest of the guests were just staring awkwardly back at him, seeming to be quite bored. He glanced back to John and Mary to find them looking up at him, John straight faced and Mary wrinkling her nose and shaking her head. He turned to look at Amelia, who gave him a small, tight smile.

"Perhaps you should have left it just at the stag night," Amelia whispered to him, giving him a sympathetic look. All the guests had loved hearing about the three of them getting drunk, Lestrade had almost spilt his drink down his front from laughing so hard, but she had started to notice that they had started to grow a little restless once Sherlock had started getting carried away with the whole Mayfly Man side of things. She supposed that the speech had grown a little long, in the original draft of the speech he had simply left it at the stag night and only brushed over the Mayfly Man's case briefly to talk about how they had wound up drunk at a crime scene.

He coughed a little awkwardly and glanced back to the rest of the room, a little embarrassed over how distracted he had allowed himself to get, "On second thoughts I _probably_ should have told you about the Elephant in the Room," he admitted, shifting on the spot, "However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me," he smiled faintly, "I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being, and Amelia can read emotions. I used to think that's what made me special, quite frankly, I still do…" Amelia laughed, shaking her head fondly as he paused to glance back to her, giving her a small smile before turning his attention back to the audience, "But a word to the wise: should you require the services of the three of us, _I_ will solve your murder, Amelia will keep me inline while solving the case…or _try_ to…" he shot her a little smirk as she let out a long, suffering sigh, thinking of the Baskerville incident. He looked back up to the room, growing serious, "But it takes John Watson to save your life," he glanced down at John, who smiled embarrassedly, "Trust me on that, I should know. He's saved mine and Amelia so many times, and in so many ways," he took a breath and lifted his phone up for the room to see as John smiled slightly, "This blog is the story of three friends and their frankly ridiculous adventures…" he smiled as several of the guests laughed, including Amelia, who was feeling the strangest urge to cry, "Of murder, mystery and mayhem. And yes, Amelia, that last one is about your insistence on wearing those ridiculous high heels…"

Amelia laughed loudly, shaking her head as even more people laughed, a blush creeping onto her cheeks, "Oh, don't start, you," she said playfully, waving a finger at him as he flashed her a grin. She was half tempted to make another remark about the fact that she knew he liked it when she wore heels and lipstick, but decided against it.

Sherlock smiled, turning back to the rest of the room, "But from now on, there's a new story," he went on with the speech, his smile fading, "A _bigger_ adventure," he looked back down to John and Mary, who smiled broadly, "Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding," he reached out to pick up his own champagne glass as the guests all stood with their owns glasses, Amelia following suit. He held his glass up before him as the photographer walked towards the head table, getting ready to get a picture of the toast, "Today begin the adventure of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is…"

He stopped suddenly and froze on the spot, completely oblivious to the flashing of the camera going off, snapping pictures of him. He dropped the glass in his hand; not even noticing as everything thing seemed to slow down and fade into the background. Hamish, John's middle name, the name that he hated and refused to ever talk about. No one knew it, except…Tessa, she had known it. She had called John by his full name while they had been at the flat investigating the Mayfly Man, but they had all been so drunk that none of them had even noticed. How could she possibly have known? It wasn't possible that someone like Tessa, of all people, would know something like that. He recalled how hard he and Amelia had both tried to get John to tell them what his middle name was…

….….. _ **Flashback**_ …..….

 _Sherlock strolled into the living room of Baker Street, ten unlit cigarettes stuffed into his mouth as he went, his blue dressing gown billowing behind him. Amelia was there, she always seemed to be there, much to his annoyance, always either lounging casually in one of the armchairs by the fireplace or on the sofa, implacably dressed and wearing a pair of ridiculous heels that she couldn't possibly run in, should the need arise while on a case. Why she felt the need to continue to grace them with her presence was a mystery to him, he had hardly tried to make her feel welcome, if anything he had tried to make her stop._

 _Of course he had asked her to work with him on cases, but he hadn't expected that to mean that she would take up semi permanent residence in his flat. She was clearly more capable then most people, certainly more able to use her brain, in any case, and he supposed that he could be conceded to admit that she had a great deal of potential as a detective, but that didn't mean that he didn't find her to be annoying. Still, it was a little satisfying knowing that she found him to be just as annoying as he found her to be, but that still wasn't' enough to stop her from spending more time in his flat then her own, which was right next door. He considered putting a lock on the door between their flats, but he was forced to admit that, logically, it was faster for her to be able to move freely between the flats if they worked on cases together._

 _He passed by where his new flatmate, John Watson was sitting at the dining table, tapping away on his laptop. His eyes landed on the screen to see that he was writing what looked to be some sort of post for his blog and frowned slightly, reaching up to take the cigarettes from his mouth as he proceeded on towards the sofa. He ignored the odd look that Amelia shot him from over the top of her BlackBerry from where she was sitting in John's usual armchair, "'John H. Watson,'" he read aloud, grabbing an old slipper from off a pile of books as he sat down on the sofa, looking across to John._

" _Yep," John said, glancing up briefly to him before returning his attention to the computer screen, seeming to have no intention of elaborating further._

 _Amelia lowered her phone into her lap, raising her eyebrows curiously at John's back, "What does the 'H' stand for?" she asked, but John simply cleared his throat and went straight back to typing._

 _Sherlock eyed John closely for a moment as he absently slipped his stash of cigarettes away inside the toe of the slipper, for safe keeping in case of an emergency. His eyes briefly meet Amelia's and he frowned slightly, feeling as if they had just entered into an unspoken agreement to both try and figure out exactly what the 'H' stood for. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that as he dropped the slipper onto the floor and broke eye contact with her, moving to lie down across the sofa. He supposed that he might as well try and get used to teaming up with Amelia. She wasn't a complete idiot, so she had that going for her…even if she was one of the most annoying women he had meet._

… _ **Flashback: Weeks later**_ …

 _Sherlock stared across to John from over the kitchen table, eyeing the man while he read his morning newspaper, taking no notice of his flatmate's attention. Amelia was sitting in the end chair of the table, sipping her tea as her eyes flickered back and forth between both men. The three of them had been working together for three weeks now, and while Sherlock had been forced to admit that Amelia was more intelligent and a better detective then he had first anticipated, that didn't mean that he had warmed to her completely, nor she to him. He knew that she found him to be to insensitive and he was quite sure that she did things just too purposely annoy him. Still, they had bonded a little bit over their little game of guessing John's mysterious middle name, each finding it quite entertaining to randomly throw names that start with 'H' at John in the hope that he'll let something slip. Sadly, it hadn't worked._

" _Henry?" Sherlock tried, watching John's face closely for the slightest twitch. Amelia lowered her cup, her attention completely focused on him, too._

 _John didn't even look up from his paper, "Shut up," he said, popping the 'P'._

 _Amelia narrowed her eyes as Sherlock popped a piece of toast into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, "Hugo?" she suggested._

 _John sighed loudly and lifted the newspaper up higher until he was completely hidden behind it, "I think I prefer it when you're bickering like an old married couple," he muttered tiredly._

 _Sherlock and Amelia both blinked, glancing at each other before quickly looking away again, an awkward silence settling over the kitchen._

….….. _ **Flashback: two weeks later**_ …

 _Sherlock looked up from his microscope that he had set up on the kitchen table, pulling his eyes away from the lens to look over to the open sliding door to see the back of John's head sicking up from where he was sitting in his armchair, reading something. Amelia was sitting in Sherlock's own armchair, her legs crossed while she flickered through a glossy fashion magazine. Once again she was in his flat when she could be in her own and once again he found it annoying. As if sensing his gaze, her eyes flickered up from the pages and meet his eyes, breaking into a sly smirk as she seemed to realise what he was planning to do, lowering the magazine and settling her attention onto John._

" _Humphrey?" he called into the living room, watching the back of John's head closely._

" _Howard?" Amelia said quickly, looking at John intently, a smirk still playing on her face._

" _Shut up," John told them firmly, not looking up from his reading._

 _Amelia sighed, sinking back into her chair, looking back to her magazine, "Spoil-sport"._

….….. _ **Flashback: a week later**_ ….…..

 _Sherlock walked out of his bedroom, buttoning his blazer as he began to walk down the hallway to the living room, only to pause outside the bathroom door where the sound of the shower running could be heard through the door._

" _Higgins?" he said loudly through the door._

" _Go. Away!" John's voice sounded through the door, annoyed._

 _He grimaced slightly in frustration and walked into the living room, only for Amelia to soon stroll into the room from the landing door. He frowned at her, watching as she moved to causally sit on the sofa, looking as if she owned the place, "Don't you have your own flat you could be in?" he asked her, knowing that part of his annoyance was due to not being able to figure out John's middle name, after weeks of trying._

" _Good morning to you too, Sherlock," Amelia said calmly, absently smoothing the skirt of her dress over her knees and looking up to him, "I'm assuming that, judging from your lovely morning greeting, that you still haven't been able to work out John's middle name?"_

 _He glared at her for a moment before turning and storming across to the far window, pulling the lace curtain aside. Damn her and her ability to deduce his emotions, it was truly one of her most annoying and yet admirable skills as a detective, not that he would ever admit to something like that. She had a knack for always seeming to see straight through him and to be able to figure out why he might be feeling that way. He truly did dislike that, it made him vulnerable, more human._

" _Going by your silence, I'll take that as a yes," her voice drifted over to him, sounding amused, her accent sounding stronger this morning._

 _He turned on his heel to face her, narrowing his eyes, "And I suppose you know, then?" he almost snapped at her._

" _Let's see, shall we?" she smiled, not in the slightest bit concerned about his foul mood, "John!" she called down the hallway, the sound of the shower having now stopped, "Hector?"_

" _Shut up, Amelia!" John's voice sounded through the closed door and down the hallway to them, sounding muffled, but there was no mistaking the exasperation in it._

 _She sighed and shrugged, looking back up to Sherlock, "Well, that answers that question," she stood, breaking into a broad smile that really shouldn't be possible so early in the morning, "How about we go out and get breakfast? I'm starved"._

 _Sherlock sighed and nodded silently in agreement, moving to grab his coat and scarf…_

…..…. _ **One year later**_ ….…..….

 _A year went by and still, the mystery of John's middle name remained, and while their attempts at guessing the name might have lessened over the months, mainly due to the fact that they had steadily started to run out of names starting with 'H' to try and use, Sherlock and Amelia still hadn't completely given up. But Sherlock still had one trick up his sleeve and, after a year of getting nothing out of John, he finally gave in and decided to give his brother a little phone call._

 _John sighed tiredly as he made his way up the stairs and onto the landing of Baker Street, carrying several shopping bags in his hands. He stepped into the living room and blinked, finding Sherlock and Amelia standing together beside the doorway, looking at a white sheet of paper in Sherlock's hands. He did a double take as he got a closer look at the paper, "That's my birth certificate," he realised, startled as he moved to take a closer look at it._

" _Yep," Sherlock replied casually, popping the 'P'. He didn't even blink as he folded the paper up and pushed off the wall that he had been leaning against, calmly strolling away._

" _Little bit of cheating, I'll admit," Amelia said with a small smile at John, who was staring after Sherlock, still seeming quite shocked, "But it was driving us both insane trying to work it out. I suppose we'll have to find another mystery to entertain ourselves now," she sighed and pattered his arm, before a cheeky expression crossed her face, "Do you want a hand with those bags, Doctor John Hamish Watson?"_

 _John sighed, closing his eyes tightly, "I hate you both, you know that?"_

 _She laughed, grinning at him, "Come on, I'll help you with the bags…regardless of any personal feelings you may have for me," she winked and, without even waiting, reached out to take one of the bags off him and stroll off into the kitchen, heels clicking as she went._

 _John shook his head and shot Sherlock's back a dark look, before following behind her._

….…. _ **Present**_ ….…...….…

In fact, there was only one other person that Sherlock could come up with who might know John's middle name, and that was Irene Adler herself after John had let it slip when he had made a mocking remark about baby names. He frowned as Adler popped into his head, looking just like she had when he first laid eyes on her, naked and her face and hair perfectly made up, staring back at him intently, until she suddenly disappeared from his mind and instead Amelia was there, clean face of makeup, hair down and completely natural, while dressed in her favourite shabby jumper and a pair of old jeans, not at all like the polished version that everyone else saw. This was the Amelia that she so rarely ever showed and usually only to him, this was the real Amelia. He sighed slightly, feeling himself starting to grow distracted as Amelia gave him one of her cheeky little smiles, the one she always wore right before she teased him or called him, 'Holmes'.

He shoved all of that aside, needing to focus and having Amelia and Irene Adler popping into his head really wasn't helping matters. Of course he knew that it couldn't have anything to do with Adler, he didn't have a clue where the woman was and nor could he say that he cared very much, just as long as she didn't pop back into his life and start meddling again, upsetting Amelia and causing more trouble.

No, John's middle name had only been made public once and that had been on the wedding invitations, which John had tried very hard to prevent. For Tessa to be able to know John's full name, that meant that she must have seen one of the wedding invitations, one of the invitations that barely a hundred people had even seen and the Mayfly Man had dated only five woman. It was far too coincidental that the Mayfly man could have just happened to have chosen a woman who had seen one of those invitations. For whatever reason, that had to be the real reason behind the man's actions, to learn about the wedding.

Sherlock didn't believe in coincidence, the Universe was rarely so lazy for something like that to happen. The Mayfly Man had gone to great lengths find out something about the wedding, assuming false identities and lying, all of which suggested criminal intent. The Mayfly Man hadn't just done this on a whim, however, he was clever, he had planned this whole thing out carefully, he wouldn't just let all of that planning go to waste if his true interest laid in something to do with John and Mary's wedding, meaning that the Mayfly Man had to be…

"…here today," he finished aloud, just as his champagne glass smashed on the floor at his feet, spilling champagne all over the place and on his shoes, some even splashing onto Amelia's own shoes. He blinked rapidly; feeling quite stunned as he glanced absently down at the broken glass, Amelia's startled gasp sounding beside him, "Ooh, sorry I…" he looked up briefly before glancing back down and shifting slightly on the spot, clearing his throat as he looked back up again.

"Sherlock?" Amelia said worriedly, making him slowly look back to her, finding her looking quite concerned, half standing from her chair. She swallowed, knowing that something was wrong, something was very wrong and she couldn't figure out what, "Sherlock, what is it?" she asked, reaching out to lightly touch his arm.

Sherlock swallowed, giving her a slightly forced smile that she saw straight through. He gestured for her to sit back down into her seat, making her frown deeply but she still complied, not taking her eyes off him for a second as she dropped her hands back into her lap. The Master of Ceremonies hurried forward to Sherlock, holding another champagne glass.

"Another glass, sir?" the man said as he approached, holding out a fresh glass.

"Thank you, yes," he turned to take the glass, still seeming quite distracted, "Thank you, yes," he turned back to face the room, some of the guests looking at him quite worriedly and confused as the Master of Ceremonies moved back off to the side of the room. His eyes fell on Amelia again to see her still watching him closely, trying to figure out what was going on, but he didn't have time to try explain it to her, not when he was only just starting to make sense of it all himself. She would just have to come to her conclusions, as he had no doubt she would soon enough. His mind was racing frantically, knowing that whatever the Mayfly had planned, it was going to happen here, today, at John and Mary's wedding. There was still time to stop it, "Now, where were we?" he cleared his throat, his eyes sweeping over the guests as a quiet muttering of conversation broke out. He had control of the room, all eyes still fixed on him and listening to every word he said, he could use that, but first he needed to make sure just how much control he truly had over them, "Ah, yes," he lifted his glass up, the guests moving to stand with their own glasses raised, "Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you. And down again," he motioned with his hands for everyone to sit back down.

The guests blinked in confusion and slowly sat back down in their chairs, Amelia hesitating as she eyed Sherlock, but she still sat back down, not at all liking not knowing what was going on, not when it was clearly something very serious, judging from the way that Sherlock was acting. She didn't like not knowing, it made her feel useless and she couldn't exactly try to even help Sherlock when she didn't have a clue of what was going on.

Sherlock lowered his own glass and sat it down on the table before him, before straightening, "Ladies and gentlemen," he looked back out across the room, "People tell you not to milk a good speech, get off early, leave 'em laughing. Wise advice and I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now…" he suddenly braced his hand against the table and vaulted himself over the top of it, making Amelia lean back in her chair in mild alarm, her eyes widening slightly as he landed gracefully on the other side of the table, "Part two," he completely ignored some of the startled gasps from the guests, wondering down the middle aisle between the tables, "Part two is more action based. I'm gonna…walk around, shake things up a bit".

"What the hell is going on?" Amelia murmured to herself, slowly rising onto her feet as she stared after him. This was going completely off the script for the speech now and the way he was acting, the way he seemed to be scanning every single man's face in the room, he was making her start to feel quite nervous. He had said that someone or something was here today…but what? He had been talking about the Mayfly Man case before everything had changed, could it…no, surely not. But then again, what else could have made Sherlock completely go off like this? She straightened herself and began scanning the guests herself. It was the only logical thing that she could think of, that the Mayfly Man was there, among them today. It didn't matter if she didn't completely understand what was happening or that she was missing a big chuck of information, it was the only logical jump that she could come up with to explain what was going on with Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes roamed around each table, focusing on the men as he continued to make his way through the room, the only male in the room not excluded was little Archie and John, "Who'd go to a wedding?" he went on, "That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?" he stopped in the middle of the room and spun back around to look back to the head table, holding his arms out at his sides and smiling broadly, "Well, _everyone_ ," he clapped his hands together, pressing them together, "Weddings are _great_! Love a wedding".

"What's he doing?" Mary asked quietly, staring at Sherlock in confusion.

John frowned, watching Sherlock in concern, "Something's wrong," he remarked, his eyes flickering across to Amelia, who was still standing. She caught his eye and nodded grimly in confirmation. He sat up straighter and focused back on Sherlock. Things had just taken a _very_ serious turn.

"And John's great, too!" Sherlock said brightly, pointing back across the room to John, "I haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface," he cast his eyes around the room again, his tone growing more and more distracted, "I could go on all night about the complexity of his…jumpers…" he spun back around, still scanning the male guests as John blinked in disbelief, "And he can cook. Does…a…thing…thing with peas…" Amelia's eyebrows rose, starting to feel like he was just rambling on to stall for time, while John and Mary exchanged a puzzled look, "…once. Might not be peas. Might not be him. But he's got a great singing voice…or _somebody_ does," he hissed out a frustrated sigh, slowly spinning around in a circle as he eyed each male guest, "Ahh, too many, too many, too many, too _many_!" he grimaced angrily, spinning back around to face the front of the room, making several guests shift uncomfortably in their chairs.

"Sherlock," Amelia called to him, her voice calm but stern, making his head snap around to look at her, " _Focus_ ," she told him, acting as if it was just the two of them, because right now she could tell that he was mind was being flooded with so much information that it was overwhelming his thinking process. She knew what that was like, "You need to take a breath and focus. Eliminate the irrelevant data and stick to the facts".

He took a deep breath and gave her a sharp nod, not taking his eyes off her, finding his mind clearing from all the overwhelming facts and details about the guests that he had picked up, forcing himself to focus on one thing at a time, "Sorry," he forced a smile onto his face as she gave him an encouraging smile, nodding to him, "Too many jokes about John!" he pulled his gaze from her and pointed at John, who frowned slightly, his smile fading as he dropped his arm back to his side, "Now, er…where was I?" he clasped his hands together down his front, "Ah, yes…" he looked down at the floor briefly, "Speech!" his head snapped back up, flashing the guests a grin and pointing back up at the top table, "Speech," he clapped his hands together again, "Let's talk about…" his expression grew darker, "…murder".

Amelia's eyes closed tightly as the guest gasped, most of the room looking quite alarmed and John sighed loudly, ducking his head while Mary frowned deeply.

"Sorry, did I say 'murder?'" Sherlock expression cleared, lightening again as he blinked rapidly for a moment, seeming quite surprised that he had actually said that out loud, "I meant to say 'marriage…'" John's head snapped back up to stare at him, narrowing his eyes, "But, you know, they're quite similar procedures when you think about it," he continued, shrugging as Amelia sighed heavily, half wishing he was rambling again about what John was supposedly good at, "The participants tend to know each other, and it's over when one of them's dead".

"Oh, God," Amelia breathed as John sighed again, ducking his head in exasperation, "Did he seriously just compare marriage to _death_?" she paused, shaking her head at herself, "Of course he did, he's Sherlock Holmes. Why do I even bother to be surprised anymore?"

"In fairness, murder is quicker, though," he commented with another shrug, "Janine!" he called quickly, making Janine look up with wide eyes as he moved to stand behind one of the guests, a young, dark haired man with thick glasses, "What about this one?" he pointed at the man, looking back across the room to Janine, the poor man looking quite awkward, "Acceptable hot?" he smiled, before glancing across to the young women sitting beside the man, "More importantly, his girlfriend's wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear and hasn't bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket, or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he's going home alone," as he spoke quickly, he discreetly removed his phone from his trouser pocket and began texting rapidly behind his back with one hand, looking back across to Janine, "Also, he's a comics and sci-fi geek," his eyes flickered across to Amelia, "I'm sure that Amelia's dated her share of sci-fi geeks in the past, I imagine that she would be more than happy to concur with me that they're always tremendously grateful, really put the hours in," he smiled and sent off the text, chuckling slightly awkwardly.

Amelia's cheeks warmed slightly as she shifted in her chair, narrowing her eyes on Sherlock. As if she needed the room to hear about her past dating habits or love life, "I think I'm going to kill him," she muttered to herself, giving a few of the guests an embarrassed smile when they glanced back to her, "Yep," she said through gritted teeth, "Definitely going to kill him".

"Geoff, the gents," Sherlock said causally, still smiling a little too widely to be believable. He looked over to Lestrade, who was staring back at him in confusion, not making any attempt to move from his seat, "The loos, now, please," he jerked his head over towards the door.

"It's _Greg_ ," Lestrade corrected him, exasperated.

"The loos, please," he repeated, a bit more firmly.

"Why?" he frowned, just as his phone singled that he had a message and he quickly reached into his trouser pocket, retrieving his phone.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's your _turn_ ," he jerked his head over towards the door again, his tone growing frustrated.

Lestrade checked his phone, staring down at the screen before his eyes widened in realisation at whatever he read, "Yeah, actually, now you mention it…" he nodded hurriedly, pushing his chair back as he rose, quickly heading across the room for the door.

"Sherlock," John called, sighing slightly as Sherlock began pacing, running his hand down his face, "Any chance of a…an end date for this speech? Gotta cut the cake".

"Oh!" Sherlock broke into a wide smile and began almost dancing down the middle aisle towards the top table, waving his arms around dramatically, "Ladies and gentlemen, can't stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once, Vatican Cameos," he finished calmly, looking back to meet both Amelia and John's eyes for a moment.

John straightened in his chair at once, instantly growing serious as Amelia swallowed hard and began regretting her decision to wear such high heels today, sitting back down in her chair. They were going to be hell to try and run in, if the need arose, which seemed to be quite likely.

"What did he say?" Mary asked John worriedly, keeping her voice low, "What's that mean?"

"Battle stations," John told her quietly, tugging his waistcoat down, his eyes not leaving Sherlock, "Someone's going to die".

"What?" she exclaimed, shocked. He quickly grabbed her hand, trying to silently shush her before she could make a scene and draw attention to them.

Amelia leaned across the table towards the couple, "Mary, don't panic," she whispered to her, looking completely calm as her eyes flickered between the pair, "We have this handled…well, Sherlock does, anyway," she frowned slightly to herself as she sat back in her chair, still feeling quite useless without knowing completely what information she might be missing. Looks like Sherlock was going to have to handle most of this himself, for the time being, anyway.

Sherlock grimaced as he moved to stand in the middle of the room, closing his eyes tightly as he frantically tried to think. He needed to narrow it down, narrow it down to one person, but there was just so many male guests that could possibly be the Mayfly Man that his mind was being flooded with so much data about each of them, making it near impossible for even him to try and decipher all of it. It was almost physically painful trying to think, to narrow the list down, and he wished that he could just take a minute to explain everything to Amelia so that he could get her to help, but without all the information that he had, she was at a disadvantage. She clearly knew that the Mayfly Man was here, amongst them, but he knew that she wouldn't attempt to make any sort of conclusion until she had the full facts. Mistakes were too easy to make, otherwise, and mistakes in their line of work tended to be very damaging. He began pacing erratically, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut, when he shouted out in sheer frustration and slapped himself across his right cheek.

"No!" he yelled angrily, ignoring the shocked and horrified gasps from the guests, Amelia's eyes widening in concern and alarm. He slapped himself again, on his left cheek, "No!"

"Sherlock!" Amelia called urgently, making his head snap back up to her, breathing hard with anger and frustration. She stood from her seat again, holding up a calming hand, her eyes not leaving his face, "Stop shouting and focus," she ordered him sharply, making him blink in mild surprise, "You are Sherlock Holmes, you _can_ do this, so just stop shouting and hitting yourself, and _think_!" her tone grew gentler as she went on, her face softening, knowing that she had his complete attention now, "You've got this, Holmes, you know you do. If one way doesn't work when you're solving a puzzle, then find another approach".

He held her gaze for a long moment, feeling his head start to clear again and an odd calmness start to wash over him as his breathing grew steady once more. She was right, of course, there was always another method, another way of doing things if one way wasn't working, he just needed to figure out what that new approach was for narrowing down the list of possible suspects…and then it hit him. There hadn't been a death yet, no one had actually been murdered, but obviously that was the intended result of the Mayfly Man. So, that meant that the victim was still with them, someone in the room was the victim, just like someone in the room was also their killer. If he couldn't find the Mayfly Man, then surely he could find the intended victim? Anyone could be the killer, but there could only be _one_ victim, he could work with that list, narrow that down easily enough. And that was exactly what John did; too, he was the one who saved the victims…well, when they had a living victim that could be saved.

"You," he turned and pointed at John, walking towards him as John straightened in his chair, looking blankly back at him, "It's always you," he smiled, still pointing at him as he neared the top table, "John Watson, you keep me right. Both you and Amelia do," his eyes flickered across to Amelia, who was still standing and giving him a small smile.

John climbed onto his feet as Sherlock stopped before them, looking determined, "What do I do?" he asked him.

"Well, you've already done it," he replied, shaking his head as he looked at him seriously, "Don't solve the murder. Save the life," he looked directly at Amelia, "Use a different approach".

Amelia's smile widened, looking almost proud, "Exactly, Holmes".

He nodded to her, even going so far as to wink, which surprised both her and John for a second before he took a deep breath and whirled back around to face the rest of the room, "Sorry," he flashed them a slightly manic grin, "Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew!" he said in a high-pitched voice, clapping his hands together. He looked down at the floor as his smile slipped from his face, his expression growing colder; more calculating as he slowly looked back up, "Let's play a game. Let's play murder," he began to prowl back down the aisle, his eyes flickering from guests to guests, studying them intently.

John sighed and sat back down, while Amelia slowly retook her own seat, watching Sherlock's movements carefully. It was almost distracting to see how easily he could move through a room like this, reminding her a bit like a cat hunting it's pray. She was certainly glad that she hadn't been on the receiving end of him like this…well, maybe. She had noted a similar calculating glimmer in his eyes before, but those had been quite enjoyable to witness and to know that it was being directed towards her and her alone. But Sherlock Holmes wasn't flirting now, this was serious.

"Sherlock…" Mrs Hudson began disapprovingly, watching him pass by her table.

"Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding," he remarked, ignoring Mrs Hudson as he brought his pressed hands up to lightly rest against his chin, still slowly strolling down the aisle, "Who exactly would you pick?"

"I think you're a popular choice at the moment, dear".

"If someone could move Mrs Hudson's glass slightly out of reach, that would be _lovely_ ," Sherlock said without even glancing back, gesturing over his shoulder, while Amelia struggled to hold back a laugh, "More importantly," he continued as if she hadn't spoken at all, "Who could you _only_ kill at a wedding?" he stopped at the last two tables of the room and spun back around to look down to the head table, his eyes quickly scanning over all the possible victims before coming to land on Amelia.

Amelia nodded slowly, thinking it over, "Well, obviously whoever it was, they mustn't leave home very often," she said thoughtfully, "Someone that rarely ventures out of their home, someone that you're not likely to see very often in the local shops or pub".

"Most people you can kill _any_ old place," he agreed, before shrugging, "As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues," he smiled faintly and began rubbing his hands together, slowly strolling back down the aisle towards the head table, "Now, John I'd poison," he gestured over to John as Mary cast her husband a quick, slightly nervous look, while Amelia raised her eyebrows curiously, quite interested to hear all about his apparent little hobby, "Sloppy eater, dead easy," he shrugged again, not seeming to care about some of the shocked looks the guests were shooting him, "I've given him chemicals and compounds, that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue…"

"Hmm…" Amelia hummed, eyeing John, so much so that poor John even shifted a little uneasily in his chair under her gaze. It almost reminded him of a more sane version of James Moriarty, they did both have the same eyes and similar facial structure, so when Amelia got a look in her face like that, it was very easy to remember that she was actually that maniacs twin, "I think I would probably agree with you, Holmes," she said casually, finally pulling her eyes off John, much to his relief as she looked back across to Sherlock, "Trying to sneak up on him would be useless, though I imagine that a decent wack of the back of his head while he slept would also work. He does have a habit of falling asleep during movies at night time".

Sherlock smiled, but it wasn't a very nice smile, slightly too sinister for that, though he was clearly quite pleased to see Amelia joining in with his little game, "And what about Lestrade?" he raised his eyebrows at her, "He's so easy to kill, it's a miracle no one succumbed to the temptation".

"Oh, I know," she nodded, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement, not seeming to notice the horrified expressions steadily crossing the guests faces, "One only needs to slip something into his coffee or cut his breaks, and that would be it for him. It's actually a little worrying just how easy it would be".

"I've got a pair of keys to my brother's house. I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him," he made a strangling gesture with his hands, before he cleared his throat and quickly dropped his hands back to his sides, seeming to realise that he might have been a little overly enthusiastic with his little demonstration, "…if, if the whim arose," he finished a little awkwardly.

"Completely hypothetically, of course," Amelia added a little hastily, her smile slightly strained as it suddenly occurred to her how they must have sounded to the rest of the room, even to people like John and Lestrade it must have sounded quite awful for them to be happily discussing how they might murder their friends. It wasn't as if they would ever go through with any of it…well, she knew that she wouldn't, anyway, but it was a nice distraction to have when one was stuck in a waiting room. Surely if you couldn't waste time in a waiting room thinking up ways of killing your friends, then when could you think like that? Waiting rooms were enough to make even the friendliest and calm person think about homicide.

"Oh, _completely_ ," he nodded as he turned and started prowling back down the aisle, not sounding entirely sincere.

"They're both pissed, aren't they?" Tom's whisper carried throughout the room as he leaned towards Molly. Amelia blinked slightly, her cheeks flushing as she glanced over to their table, just in time to see Molly stab her plastic fork so hard into Tom's hand, that it actually broke, sending shards of plastic flying, "Ow!" he yelped, grabbing at his hand, his fiancé completely ignoring him to focus on Sherlock.

"So, once again, who could you only kill _here_?" Sherlock looked around the room as he spoke, turning back around to face the front of the room as he reached the last two tables, his eyes quickly running over the guests, eliminating the ones that were obviously not their victim, "Clearly it's a rare opportunity, so it's someone who doesn't get out much," his list grew more and more narrow as he continued deducing the guests, carefully moving on to the next once he had eliminate them, "Someone for whom a planned social encounter known months in advance is an exception. Has to be unique opportunity," he turned around briefly, considering what he was saying as he looked back up to see Amelia nodding along with him, following his thought process closely, "And since killing someone in public is difficult…killing them in private isn't an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then," he turned again, his back facing the top table, "Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security…" he trailed off as he slowly turned, his eyes landing on the only person in the room that could possibly match that description: Major Sholto, "Possibly someone under threat".

Amelia's eyes widened, realising that it really only could have been Sholto. John had told them all about how the man frequently received death threats, how he was quite hated by the families of the soldiers that had accidently been killed. The man had moved far away from everyone and everything just to try and escape from all the attention, to get away and find some peace, meaning that finding a way to kill him would be quite a difficult task. There was only ever one person that could be the target, one person in the whole room that would be both difficult to kill and would have the enemies to want him dead…well, aside from Sherlock, that was, but even he would be easy enough to kill, if someone truly tried. Not that she had considered it…well, okay, so maybe in the very start of their partnership and on a very boring evening with nothing on telly to watch.

Slowly, Sholto turned his head to look back to Sherlock, seeming to sense his gaze.

Sherlock tried to act casual, shrugging as he walked over to a nearby table and grabbed a name card from off it, while pulling a small pencil that was attached to a chain on his waistcoat, "Ooh!" he looked calmly back up to the rest of the room, still trying to act like nothing was going on, "A recluse, small household staff," he turned his back on the room again and began scribbling something down on the slip of paper.

"Of course," Amelia said, drawing the guest's attention back to her, just as she had intended, hoping to give Sherlock a chance to discreetly finish what he was writing, "All those women with those household jobs, such as a cook and maid," she shook her head, feeling like a complete idiot for not having figured it out before now, "It all makes perfect sense".

He nodded as he turned back around to face the room, slipping his pencil away, keeping the slip of paper in his hand, "High turnover for additional security," he commented, thinking about the woman, Robyn and how she had said that she did security. He casually stepped over to Sholto's table, dropping the slip of paper on the table before the man, "Probably all signed confidentiality agreements," he calmly straightened and walked past the table, heading back towards the head table, "There is another question that remains, however, a big one, a huge one: how would you do it? How would you kill someone in public?"

Amelia's eyes were fixed on Sholto, watching as the man slowly reached out with his right hand to pick up the slip of paper, reading what it said. She didn't need to see it to know already what Sherlock had written, 'It's you'.

"There has to be a way," Sherlock was still saying, not looking back to see if the man had got the message, "This has been planned".

"Mr Holmes!" Archie suddenly cried, excitedly jumping out of his chair, "Mr Holmes!"

He stopped and turned towards him, "Oh, hello again, Archie," he greeted, leaning down slightly so that they were almost eye level with one another, "What's _your_ theory? Get this right and there's a headless nun in it for you".

Amelia sighed slightly in exasperation. Just because the boy hadn't been scarred for life by what Sherlock had already shown him, didn't mean she felt entirely comfortable letting a seven year old see such graphic and violent pictures, "Honestly, Holmes…" she muttered, shaking her head.

"The invisible man could do it!" Archie told Sherlock eagerly, making Amelia freeze, her eyes widening as it hit her. Oh, how could they not have seen it before?

"The who, the what, the why, the where?" Sherlock asked quickly, apparently not catching on yet.

"The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who killed the guardsman!"

Sherlock straightened with a gasp, his eyes widening as he whipped back around to look at Amelia, who nodded to him, looking just as stunned as him. Both case's were connected, both of them committed by the Mayfly Man. The killer must have been planning the whole thing out for months in advance, just like one would for a wedding. He had stalked Bainbridge, used him like a test subject to try and rehearse Sholto's death, trying to ensure that it all went smoothly and would actually work once the time came. Bainbridge had just been an innocent victim in everything, just a pawn in the Mayfly Man's plan because if the Mayfly Man had just been practising on Bainbridge, then that meant that the killer intended to kill Sholto in the same way that he had tried to murder Bainbridge, but there was only one issue about that. They still didn't know how the killer had done it, even now they still had no clue, and that made things quite tricky.

Amelia swallowed and looked back across the room to see Sholto standing from his chair, moving to grab his ceremonial sword that he had leaning against the window by his table, before heading across to the door. She frowned slightly worriedly and looked back across to Sherlock to find him with his eyes tightly closed, when his eyes suddenly snapped open, as if he had known that she was looking at him, and meet her eyes.

"Oh, not just planned," Sherlock said quietly, "Planned and rehearsed," he turned at the sound of the door being opened and looked across to see Sholto leaving, but instead of moving to follow after him, as Amelia had expected, he spun on his heel and headed back up to the top table, snagging someone else's champagne glass as he went, "Ladies and gentlemen, there will be a short interlude," he announced as he reached the top table, skidding slightly as he spun around to face the room, holding up his champagne glass, "The bride and groom!"

Slowly and still looking quite confused, the guests rose and held up their own glasses, "The bride and groom," they toasted hesitantly, exchanging puzzled looks with one another.

Sherlock instantly turned to face John, Mary, and Amelia, absently sitting his glass down on the table. He bent slightly closer towards the three of them, forcing Amelia to shift closer in her chair, "Major Sholto's going to be murdered," he told them hurriedly, keeping his voice low as they listened intently, "I don't know how or by whom, but it's going to happen".

He didn't wait for them to respond before he was straightening and striding off through the guests, heading for the door, quickly apologising as he went. Amelia pushed her chair back, ignoring the horrible high-pitched noise it made on the floor as she leaped onto her feet, hurrying around the table to follow after him, cursing under her breath as her awfully unsuitable heels skidded against the slippery floor. With every step her the arch of her feet protested painfully and she mentally groaned, knowing that she would probably end up having to put ice on them and avoid wearing heels for the next few days, but she did love those high heels…even if they were hell.

"So sorry," she said distractedly as she lightly pushed her way through the guests, giving them a strained smile as she finally caught up to Sherlock. She grabbed his arm as she caught up to him, figuring it would be faster to both try and work through the guests blocking their way "Excuse us, so sorry…"

"Excuse us!" Sherlock said quickly, still trying to make their way over the door, "Consulting!"

Finally, they managed to reach the door and hurried out into the hallway, Sherlock half dragging Amelia along as she struggled to keep pace with him in her shoes, still cursing under her breath as they made into the reception area and turned, dashing up a set of carpeted stairs, only for Sherlock to come to a sudden stop partway up, his expression blank. Footsteps sounded behind them and Amelia blinked slightly, shooting Sherlock a slight frown before turning her head to see John jogging up the stairs to reach them.

"What is it?" John asked urgently, looking back and forth between them, "What's wrong?"

"I…I don't remember the room number," Sherlock confessed after a moment, looking angry at himself. He growled in frustration and tightly squeezed his eyes shut, dropping Amelia's hand in order to reach up to press his fingertips against his temples, desperately trying to think.

John's eyes widened in disbelief, staring back at his friend, while Amelia looked rather surprised herself, "How can you not remember which room?" he demanded, holding his hands out in exasperation, "You remember _everything_ ".

"I have to delete _something_!"

"Amelia?" John turned on her.

Amelia blinked again, startled, "I didn't organise the hotel rooms," she reminded him quickly, casting Sherlock a quick glance, very much hoping that he would remember, "Sherlock and Mary did all of that".

"Oh, great! Just perfect".

She frowned at him, narrowing her eyes, but before she had a chance to make a rather unhelpful remark about his sarcasm, Mary suddenly appeared at the bottom of the stairs, running up to them with one hand holding the front of her skirt up to stop herself from tripping.

"207!" she called to them urgently, grabbing John's hand as she reached them and half pulling him up the rest of the stairs. Sherlock jolted slightly and his eyes flew open as Amelia shot Mary a surprised look, but neither of them had time to dwell much more on it before they were dashing up the stairs and off down the hallway, passing room after room until, finally, they reached Room 207, Sherlock knocking rapidly on the door before trying to turn the handle, finding it locked.

"Major Sholto?" Sherlock shouted through the door, violently rattling the doorhandle again, "Major Sholto!"

"Major!" Amelia tried, hitting her open palm against the surface of the door, "Please, just open the door".

"If someone's about to make an attempt on my life," the Major's voice came through the door, sounding very calm and determined, "It won't be the first time. I'm ready".

John moved towards the door as Amelia stepped back, shaking her hand out slightly, her skin stinging from the rather hard hits, "Major, let us in," John said sternly through the door.

"Kick the door down," Mary told him quickly.

"I really wouldn't," Sholto replied warningly, "I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes".

Sherlock moved closer to the door again, "You're not safe in there," he called to him, "Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him".

"'The invisible man with the invisible knife'".

"Yes, exactly," Amelia nodded hurriedly, feeling panic starting to grip her as she struggled to keep calm, knowing that right now, panicking would only make things worse. She moved to stand beside Sherlock in front of the door, "And you heard what happened the last time this killer struck. We still have no idea how he managed it the _first_ time, meaning that we can't stop him now. If you don't work with us, then he'll do it again and this time…" she swallowed, hard as she glanced at Sherlock's grim face, "This time he'll succeed".

"Solve it, then".

She blinked, taken aback as Sherlock shot the door a startled look, too, "Excuse me?" she frowned back at the door, not having expected that reply.

"You're the famous Amelia Wilson and Sherlock Holmes," Sholto's voice was completely calm and level, as if they were simply talking about the weather and not the fact that he was about to be murdered, "Solve the case. On you go," Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a look, "Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door".

John moved closer to the door as Sherlock stepped away, starting to pace, desperately trying to think. Amelia took a small step back, her eyes fixed on the door, but her expression was completely blank as her eyes moved rapidly back and forth, thinking very quickly, " _Please_ , this is no time for games," he called sharply through the door, "Just let us in! You're in danger!"

"So are you, so long as you're here," his voice sounded through the door as Mary's eyes flickered back and forth between the pacing Sherlock and Amelia's back, "Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really don't approve of collateral damage".

"Solve it," Mary said suddenly, still looking between the two detectives.

Sherlock stopped pacing to look back to her, confused as Amelia's head snapped up, glancing over her shoulder to her with a frown, "Sorry?" he asked, staring at her.

"Solve it, and he'll open the door, like he said," she repeated, gesturing over to the door.

He frowned deeply, glancing at Amelia and back to Mary, "If neither Amelia nor I could solve it before, how can we solve it _now_?"

"Because it _matters_ now".

"What are you talking about?" he demanded in frustration, looking across to John, "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control!"

"Sherlock…" Amelia frowned disapprovingly.

"She's right," John remarked simply, still looking at the door.

He stared back at him, his eyes widening accusingly, "Oh, _you've_ changed!"

"No, she _is_ ," he insisted firmly, turning to face him and point a finger at him, "Shut up," Sherlock's mouth fell open, rather comically, "You're not a puzzle solver, you never have been. You're a drama queen…" Sherlock's shocked expression grew even more, leaving him looking rather like a gaping fish as Amelia struggled to hold back a laugh; half wishing she had her phone with her to snap a picture of his expression. John completely ignored his reaction, pointing back towards the door, his voice rising, "Now, there is a man in there about to die," his tone grew sarcastic, "'The game is on,'" he was almost shouting by now, angrily pointing at the door, "Solve it!"

Amelia took a deep breath, turning to Sherlock, "He's right," she said quickly, making him blink at her, startled, "We already have all the information that we…you need to be able to solve this case, now you just have to find the link, the common link between the men. Why did the killer target Bainbridge of all people? Was it just bad luck or something more? What is the link, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes lowered onto the floor as he began thinking, comparing the two men and trying to find the link. Obviously, the first link was that they were both soldiers, they…his eyes widened and his head snapped back up, meeting Amelia's eyes just as she inhaled sharply, realising the same thing. The link wasn't just that they were both soldiers, it was the fact that they had both been wearing their _uniforms_. Bainbridge had been stabbed in the stomach, on his side, right where his tight belt would rest, just like the very same belt that Sholto wore with his uniform. Stabbing someone with a very thin blade while the men wore their belts would be simple, their deaths not occurring until after they had removed their belts and released the tight binding of their flesh, this allowing the killer the perfect chance to escape the scene without even needing to be there when the victim died. Delayed stabbing.

"Oh," Amelia breathed, looking rather stunned, "Oh, that is _very_ clever".

Sherlock flashed her a quick smile and moved across to Mary, gently taking her head between his hands, placing a quick kiss onto her forehead before releasing her. Mary smiled faintly, "Though, in fairness, he's a drama queen too," he said, pointing at John, still not pleased about that little comment.

Mary nodded, glancing at Amelia, who laughed quietly, "Yeah, I know," she agreed, earning a frown from John.

Sherlock and Amelia stepped back over to the door, "Major Sholto, no-one's coming to kill you," he called through the door, "I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago".

"What did you say?" Sholto questioned loudly, confused.

"You're belt!" Amelia told him, raising her voice for him to hear her, "Don't take it off!"

"My belt?"

Sherlock turned away from the door, looking back to John and Mary, who both looked completely confused by what he was talking about, "His belt, yes," he explained to them, "Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt".

"Both men wear a tight belt as a part of their uniforms," Amelia agreed, gesturing to her own waist as she spoke, "It's worn high on the waist, fitting perfectly for where Bainbridge had been stabbed," she frowned slightly, glancing at Sherlock, "I imagine that it would be quite easy for someone to stab a slim blade through the fabric of the belt, the belt worn so tightly and the men so used to the sensation that neither of them would even feel any pain".

John nodded as understanding dawned on him, "The…the belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight…" he realised, gesturing to his own waist, picturing the belt.

"Exactly," Sherlock agreed, turning back to the door.

"…and when you took it off…" he trailed off, his eyes widening in horror.

"Delayed action stabbing," he confirmed, glancing at Amelia, "All the time in the world to create an alibi," he focused back on the door and grabbed the doorhandle, trying it again, "Major Sholto?"

"So, I was to be killed by my uniform," Sholto's voice rang out from behind the door, sounding almost flat now, resigned, "How appropriate".

Mary moved closer to the door as Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a concerned look, "They solved the case, Major," she reminded him, shifting uneasily, "You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal".

"It hardly seems fair since we played by your rules," Amelia added, desperately trying to get through to the man. They could so easily save this man's life, but he just needed to _let_ them.

"I'm not even supposed to _have_ this anymore," Sholto told them, his tone not changing, "They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose, given the circumstances, I don't have to," Amelia reached out to grab Sherlock's arm, not even thinking about it as she stared back at the door, "When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue".

"Whatever you're doing in there, James, _stop it_ , _right now_!" John shouted angrily through the door, moving until his forehead was almost touching the wooden surface, pointing his finger at it, "I will kick this door down".

"Mr Holmes," Sholto continued, ignoring John as John straightened, glancing back to Sherlock, "You and I are similar, I think".

Sherlock moved closer to the door as John stepped back, Amelia still gripping his arm tightly, "Yes, I think we are," he nodded.

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there?"

"Of _course_ there is".

"And one should embrace it when it comes, like a solider".

Sherlock's eyes flickered across to Amelia, who was frowning deeply at the door. He reached out with his left hand to cover the hand still gripping the fabric of his right arm, making her blink and glance back to meet his eyes. They had both been faced with the possibility of death and they had both gone to meet it, head on without backing down, in fact, it was the moment that Amelia had confided in him all those years ago while by the fire on the Baskerville case that she had accepted that her brother would likely kill her that he had first been forced to admit that his feelings for her went beyond that of a friendship and that, perhaps, despite everything he had ever believed in when it came to romance and love, perhaps he would be willing to try it with Amelia. They both understood what Sholto was saying because they had been there themselves. He swallowed, turning back to the door.

"Of _course_ one should," he said firmly, frowning himself, "But not at John's _wedding_. We wouldn't _do_ that, would we, you and me? We would _never_ do that to John Watson".

Silence fell over the hallway as they listened intently, waiting for the slightest noise of footsteps or movement from behind the door, but after a tense moment of waiting, nothing came. Amelia lightly tugged Sherlock back from the door, knowing that if that hadn't worked to convince Sholto, then nothing would. John stepped back over to the door and paused to try and listen, when he straightened and began pulling his jacket off.

"I'm going to break it down," he told them, determined.

"No, wait, wait," Mary said hurriedly, holding up her hands, "You won't have to".

He moved back to get ready to kick the door down, glancing back to her in confusion, "Hmm?"

Suddenly, the doorhandle clicked and began to turn, before swinging open to reveal Sholto standing in the doorway, looking back to them as he head bowed and a look of almost shame crossed his face. Slowly, he lifted his head to look directly at John, "I believe I am in need of medical attention," he said quietly.

John straightened, recovering from his surprise as Amelia broke into a wide smile, looking very relieved, "I believe I am your doctor," he replied calmly, not pausing to put his jacket back on as he turned and strolled into the room after Sholto.

Mary shot Sherlock and Amelia a quick smile, looking delighted as she passed them and followed her husband into the room. Sherlock closed his eyes briefly as Amelia released a breath that she had been holding, before she turned to look back at Sherlock, her smile softening.

"Nicely done, Holmes," she said proudly, pressing a light kiss onto his cheek before quickly using her thumb to wipe the lipstick mark that she left behind away.

He gave her a small smile and reached out to take her hand, surprising her slightly, "Shall we?" he raised his eyebrows, holding an arm out towards the hotel rooms door.

She nodded happily and squeezed his hand, leading the way into the room.

 _ **We're so close to being finished, just one more chapter before we're up to 'His Final Vol'. Next chapter, Sherlock and Amelia show-off, dancing, and Mr and Mrs Watson receive some very unexpected news. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	14. Chapter 14 The Sign of Three, Part 6

_**The Sign of Three, Part 6**_

Night had fallen and Sherlock and Amelia were slowly waltzing together in the middle of the empty reception area, Sherlock softly humming the tune to 'On The Beautiful Blue Danuba' by Johann Strauss in time with their steps and turns, while the actual band in the reception room played the song. Amelia was smiling widely up at Sherlock, her stocking covered feet gliding along the floor while her heels sat off to the side on the makeshift dance floor, having decided that unless she wished to be crippled for the next week, she should probably take the chance to slip her shoes off and give her feet a break that they very much deserved.

"You dance surprisingly well, Amelia," Sherlock remarked after a long moment, twirling her out and back towards him in one smooth, well practise motion.

She smiled brightly at him, "So do you, William," she said with a wink, making him sigh faintly in exasperation, though there was no real annoyance there, "I'm assuming that you're self taught?"

"Hmm," he hummed in agreement, slowly turning them in a small circle on the spot, "YouTube," he meet her eyes with a playful glimmer in his own, "When one is ignoring the ridiculous number of funny cat and dog videos, it can be quite helpful".

She laughed at that, shaking her head as he broke into a wide smile himself, "Was the waltz the only thing you learnt on there?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

He brought them to a stop, not letting go of her hand or dropping his hand from where is was pressed against her lower back, their faces quite close to each other. He eyed her almost apprehensively for a moment, "Do you really want to see?"

Her smile softened and she nodded eagerly, "I would love to," she told him sincerely.

That seemed to be all the encouragement that he needed because he released his hold on and took a few steps away from her, pausing to cast a quick look around the empty room to check that no one was watching, before he raised up onto his tip-toe on one foot and spun himself on the spot in a full-circle pirouette. Amelia's eyes lit up in delight and she immediately started applauding.

"Oh, that's brilliant, Sherlock!" she cheered, still clapping happily as he straightened once more, his pale cheeks slightly flushed and his eyes sparkling with happiness.

He lightly tugged his jacket straight and moved back over to her, "I've always loved to dance," he admitted quietly to her, though she had already known that for several weeks now, "I always hoped the right case would come along and, well…" he trailed off with a small shrug, looking almost embarrassed now.

"You could have been a dancer in another life," she commented, reaching up to gently cup his cheek and make him look back to her, "Who knows? In another life, you could have been famous for your dancing rather than your detective ability".

"And you?" he eyed her closely, seeming to be quite curious, "Surely you still remember something from your ballerina days?"

"Well, I quit when I was twelve, I wanted to focus on my show jumping. But…" she bit her lip and raised her eyebrows at him, looking a little unsure of herself, "I suppose I do remember a few moves…"

"Oh?" a rare cheeky smile crossed his face and a faintly challenging sparkle appeared in his eyes as he leaned towards her.

She straightened herself, narrowing her eyes very slightly, seeing the clear challenge there. If he wanted to play this game, then fine, she was more than happy to play, too. She stepped a few steps away from him and rolled her neck side to side, shaking out her arms to try and loosen her joints up a bit. It was going to be a bit tricky, given the fact that her dress was quite fitted and didn't have much give in the skirt area, but she knew one move that she could still manage, hopefully. Plus, she wasn't wearing proper dance shoes and only had stocking's on, so she would be in danger of slipping across the floor if she wasn't careful.

It had been many, many years since she had last danced like this, so she very dearly hoped that she wouldn't pull anything or find herself tripping over herself. She didn't think she could take Sherlock's smug amusement. Once she was satisfied that she wouldn't end up hurting herself, she turned to face Sherlock and held her arms out on either side of her, like a pirouette, holding her left leg out as far as her dress would allow and began spinning on her right leg in a tight circle, doing pump-turns, before finishing off with a large leap off to the side and turning to bow, crossing one leg behind the other with her feet pointed.

"Ah, Madam Louise would be so proud," she remarked as she straightened, straightening her dress a bit as she looked back up to Sherlock, finding him looking rather impressed, "She was my dance teacher for eight years".

"And you gave up ballet for horse riding?" Sherlock said disapprovingly, clearly not believing that dance and horse riding could be compared.

" _Show jumping_ ," she corrected, pointing a firm finger at him, "And yes, I did. I loved horses; still do regardless of my mother's death as a result of them," she shrugged, not wishing to dwell too much on her mother's untimely death right now, "But ballet grew boring. I knew I would never do it professionally and I wanted something exciting. Show jumping seemed like the most logical leap".

"There you are!" a voice suddenly rang through the room, making Amelia and Sherlock both blink slightly and turn to see Janine walked across the room towards them, coming to a stop before them.

"Oh, hello, Janine," Amelia greeted her with a small smile, noticing out of the corner of her eye how Sherlock straightened himself slightly and a small frown that crossed his face. Gone was the playful Holmes that she had seen before, "You caught us just practising a bit of dancing. You and Sherlock will have to dance a minute," her smile widened as Sherlock made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. She moved closer to his side, reaching out to pat his arm, "Come now, Holmes. It's tradition".

"Wonderful," Sherlock grumbled, shooting her a small glare, "More wedding tradition".

"Ignore him," she rolled her eyes and turned back to Janine, who looked rather amused, "He's in a mood".

"Practising, hey?" Janine said curiously, "I've never waltzes before".

Amelia's eyes lit up, turning to Sherlock, "Sherlock can give you a few tips," she told her quickly, ignoring the startled look that Sherlock shot her, apparently not expecting that. She looked back to Janine, "He's an excellent dancer. Go on, Holmes," she lightly nudged Sherlock's side, nodding over towards Janine.

Sherlock sighed loudly, giving Amelia look that told her that he was most certainly not pleased about this development, but he still held out his hand towards Janine to take, "Shall we?" he said to Janine, resigned.

Janine broke into a wide smile and took his offered hand, letting Sherlock sweep her into a slow version of the waltz, while Amelia moved back to lean against the wall beside where her shoes were still sitting, pausing to slip them back on, before straightening to watch Sherlock and Janine dance. She began humming along with the music still echoing down the hallway to them, quite enjoying the melody. Janine had clearly never danced the waltz before, she kept looking down at her feet and she seemed to keep trying to take the lead, but Sherlock would easily deflect her attempts with a well practised turn. Still, after only ten minutes or so, Janine began to improve and stopped trying to lead, through she did accidently step on Sherlock's toes once or twice, earning a tiny grimace of pain from Sherlock that went unnoticed by Janine, who was still watching her feet. But any improvement, even small, was good for a complete novice.

"You're doing great, Janine," Amelia said encouragingly as they danced passed her, "Just remember to lift your head. You're feet will be fine, Sherlock's leading you, you only need follow him".

"Amelia's right," Sherlock agreed, pausing in his counting of steps as Janine lifted her head, his attention focused on something over his dance partners shoulder rather than her face. He obviously still wasn't very pleased about dancing with Janine and Amelia did feel little bad about forcing him into it, but she hadn't stopped to think about it before the words had come blurting out. Still, he would have had to dance with Janine eventually, he might as well try and get used to it when it was just the three of them, "Now, again," he set them off again, leading the dance across the reception room, "One, two, three….der, der, der…ahh, pretty good," he nodded approvingly as, finally, Janine managed to dance properly without looking down or stepping on his toes. He brought them to a stop and released her, taking a step back from her and back over to Amelia, "Just…hold your nerve on your turning".

Janine smiled, looking quite pleased with herself as she reached up to adjust the strapless top of her bridesmaid gown, "Amelia's right," she remarked, looking at Sherlock, "You're a good teacher and a brilliant dancer," she winked playfully, reaching out to lightly nudge Amelia's arm, "Lucky you".

Amelia grinned, looking back to Sherlock, "Oh, I know," she said quietly, trying very hard to resist against the temptation to reach out and take Sherlock's hand, the softening expression on Sherlock's face more than enough.

"I don't suppose there's more Holmes's out there?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Sherlock.

"One," Sherlock said with an amused twitch of his lips, imagining what Mycroft's reaction would be like. It was quite tempting to try and get Amelia to organise a blind date between the two of them…though, Mycroft would never be foolish enough to fall for something like that. Still, it was still rather amusing to picture his brother forced to endure a dinner with Janine, trying to find a way to polity escape.

"Holmes," Amelia scolded lightly, having a pretty good idea just what he was thinking. She shook her head at him and turned back to Janine with a small smile, "I'm afraid he really wouldn't be your type…" she paused, frowning slightly, "Nor would you be his. In fact, I don't think he even _has_ a type".

"Pity," Janine said jokingly, not really upset about it.

"Well…" John's voice sounded through the room as the three of them looked up to see him walking through the doorway, heading over toward them, " _Glad_ to see you've pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding," he lightly clapped Sherlock on his back as he reached them.

"It was only _one_ murderer," Amelia reminded him, amused.

"One _nearly_ murderer," Sherlock added with an eye roll, shaking his head in exasperation as he glanced at Amelia and Janine, "Loves to exaggerate. You should try living with him".

"Drama queen," the brunet muttered to John, making him laugh before he quickly tried stifling it as Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously on them both. She smiled innocently at him, only making him even more suspicious.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade called as he pushed the side door open, stepping into view as the four of them looked over to him, "Got him for you," he pointed back out through the doorway.

Sherlock clapped his hands together happily as Amelia broke into a large smile, watching as the photographer walked into the room as Lestrade closed the door behind him, his camera hanging around his neck still.

"Ah, the photographer," Sherlock said brightly, the detectives stepping over towards the man, "Excellent," he glanced back to Lestrade, "Thank you".

"I don't suppose we could see your camera?" Amelia asked pleasantly, flashing the man a friendly smile and gesturing to the large camera dangling around his neck, "We'll be very, _very_ careful, I assure you," she added, knowing how protective photographers could be over their equipment.

"Er…" the photographer hesitated, shying away from her hand as he eyed them nervously, more nervous then he really ought to be. His camera wasn't that expensive and was at least a few years old, so his nerves were about something else. Slowly, he pulled the camera off over his head and handed it over to Amelia, trying hard to playoff his previous nervousness with a little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "What's this about?" he glanced between Sherlock and Amelia, casting Lestrade a quick look, laughing faintly, "I was halfway home!"

"You should have driven faster," Sherlock said lightly, peering over Amelia's arm as she started the camera up and began flicking through the pictures of the wedding. He smiled slightly, watching the small screen, "Ah, yes. _Yes_ , very good. There, you see?" his smile widened, raising his eyebrows slightly as a picture appeared on the screen of him and Amelia, sitting together at the head table, quite closely as he seemed to be smiling as Amelia was caught mid-laugh. He glanced at the side of Amelia's face, "Perfect".

"Indeed," Amelia agreed, nodding, knowing that he was talking more about the case then the actual picture, even though it was a wonderful picture of the two of them. She would have to make a mental note to find a picture frame for it when they got a copy; she would have to put it up somewhere in Baker Street, maybe even give a copy to Mr and Mrs Holmes. They would love it.

"What's perfect?" Lestrade questioned, looking between them, "You gonna tell us?"

Amelia shrugged, looking up to eye the photographer as, without taking her eyes off him, she held the camera out for Lestrade, "See for yourself," she told him nonchalantly, "Tell us what you see…or rather, what you _don't_ see".

"Um, look for what?" John frowned slightly in confusion, moving to stand beside Lestrade as he took the camera, looking at the pictures, Janine joining them to see, too. It was a nice picture of Sherlock and Amelia, but he still didn't understand what they were going on about. He looked back up to Sherlock and Amelia, pointing back to the camera, "Is the murderer in these photographs?"

"As Amelia said, it's not what's _in_ the photographs, it's what's _not_ in them," Sherlock replied, clasping his hands behind his back, shrugging, "Not in _any_ of them".

"Think about it," Amelia urged them, still watching the photographer closely, rather enjoying watching the panic starting to rise in his eyes as he seemed to start to realise that they knew, they knew what he had done and who he was. It was over for him, "What don't you ever see in wedding photos? It really is quite easy".

"Sherlock?" John sighed loudly, giving them an exasperated look, "Amelia? The showing-off thing: we've discussed it before. _Both_ of you," he gave them both a pointed look, because Amelia really could be just as bad as Sherlock, even in subtle ways.

"Yes, at length," she muttered with a small huff, resisting the urge to call him a spoil-sport. She just couldn't help it, Sherlock would show-off and it would end up leading to her showing-off. She blamed Sherlock, of course.

Sherlock took a deep breath, "There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph," he began to explain to them, "But can go anywhere, and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face," he stepped closer to the photographer, his eyes moving down to rest on his hands, "You only ever see…" he suddenly grabbed the man's hand and, from behind his back, pulled out a set of handcuffs and cuffed his wrist, attaching the second cuff to a luggage trolley beside the stunned man. John and Lestrade looked up in surprise, having been focused on the camera to see Sherlock smirking rather smugly, "The camera," he finished, eyeing the man.

"What are you doing?" the photographer demanded, staring at Sherlock, "What is this?"

"Did you seriously think we wouldn't look into every single guest attending the wedding?" Amelia raised her eyebrows at the man, making his head snap around to her. She crossed her arms across her chest, "But not just the guests, but the staff, too. In our line of work, it would be foolish not to take care to ensure everything goes smoothly, so when our original photographer that Sherlock and I _personally_ looked into was replaced by you, Jonathan Small, we grew suspicious, especially after the attempted murder," she gave him a cold smile, "Slow acting deaths aren't always the best way to kill someone".

Sherlock reached into his pocket and withdrew is phone, activating it and holding it up for John, Lestrade, and Janine to see, "Quite so," he nodded to Amelia, giving the other's a chance to see the information that they had found on his phone screen, "It would seem that today's substitute wedding photographer is also our Mayfly Man," he lowered his phone and turned back to face Small, who was staring back at them wide eyes, still seeming to be trying to play his innocent act, "His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion," he informed the other three as they listened closely. Finally, Small dropped his act, his expression growing hard as he glared back at them, "Jonny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed, an invitation to a wedding".

"He knew it would be his one chance to get at Sholto in public," Amelia nodded, glancing over at John to see him staring at Small, "He knew that Sholto would have to make an appearance at his old, dear friend's wedding and that it would be possibly his only shot at getting his revenge, so he set to work, came up with his plan and even rehearsed it. He needed to make sure that his plan would work, right down to the last detail, what did it matter to him if a man that had nothing to do with his brother's death ended up dead if he got his revenge in the end?" her eyes narrowed angrily on Small, truly appalled by the idea that Small was so willing to kill someone who had nothing to do with his would be victim.

Sherlock reached out and placed a hand on Amelia's lower back, not taking his eyes off Small, "I imagine that you would have had your chance of stabbing Sholto during the group photos, while you positioned people," he commented lightly, "Just like with Bainbridge, you stabbed him through his belt, just as you had rehearsed," he raised his eyebrows at Small, who simply blinked calmly back at them, "Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac, though, in fairness, his photographs _are_ actually quite good," he admitted, exchanging a quick look with Amelia, who nodded in agreement. He turned and tossed his phone over to Lestrade, who luckily managed to catch it, "Everything you need's on that," he glanced back across to Small, "You probably ought to…arrest him or something".

Lestrade nodded absently as he looked down at the phone, just as Mary appeared in the doorway and caught sight of John, hurrying into the room to join them. Amelia cleared her throat and leaned closer to Sherlock, an eyebrow raised, "You carry handcuffs around with you?" she asked quietly, smirking slyly.

Sherlock gave her a mildly disapproving look which was slightly ruined by the very faint colouring high in his cheeks, "Not now, Amelia," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Her smirk widen, turning into a full-blown grin, dropping her voice into a whisper, "Hmm, I think I might like it, _William_ ".

He made a suspicious noise in his throat, almost like he had just chocked on his own saliva as his blush turned an even brighter and more obvious shade, earning a few curious looks from those standing around them. He cleared his throat hastily and shifted slightly on the spot, narrowing his eyes on her as she simply grinned widely, rather smug, " _Behave_ ," he hissed, shooting Lestrade and Janine a look that made them both quickly look away.

"Maybe you ought to make me…or I could make you, if you would prefer…"

"Oh, dear Lord…" he groaned, closing his eyes tightly in exasperation and embarrassment, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else on the planet then there.

"Come on, quick!" Mary said brightly as she held out her hand to John, neither of them seeming to be paying the slightest bit of attention to the rather pink faced Sherlock and smirking Amelia. She blinked slightly as she caught sight of Small handcuffed to the luggage trolley, John still watching the man closely.

Amelia shook her head, patting Sherlock's hand as she decided that perhaps it really wasn't the time to be stirring Sherlock up, but it really had been just too good to pass up, "Don't worry, Holmes, I'm only teasing," she assured him quietly, giving him a little smile as he opened his eyes to glare at her, clearly still quite suspicious and embarrassed, judging by the faint tinge of pink in his cheeks.

"It's not me you should be arresting, Mr Holmes," Small told him, his eyes fixed on Sherlock, his voice drawing Sherlock and Amelia's attention back to him.

"Oh, _I_ don't do the arresting," Sherlock replied pleasantly, seeming to be taking a leaf out of Amelia's book, before nodding over towards Lestrade, "I just farm that out," he gave Small a sarcastic smile.

"Sholto, _he's_ the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker," he broke into a manic grin, looking quite insane for a moment. It was almost unnerving…or it would have been, had Amelia not seen the very same glint in Small's eyes in her brother's for half her life. Small's smile faded and he shook his head regretfully, closing his eyes briefly, "I shouldn't have tried to be clever".

"You should have driven faster," Sherlock said softly again, his expression growing colder. Without taking his eyes off Small, he held out his elbow towards Amelia, who smiled faintly and linked her arm through his, before linking her other arm with Janine's, surprising the woman. Together, the three of them strolled out of the room, leaving Lestrade to deal with Small as John and Mary followed close behind them. The night wasn't over yet, there was still a few more things that needed to be done yet.

…

Sherlock and Amelia stood on the middle of a small stage that had been setup at the back of the reception room, the lights now dimmed and the room lit mostly by the gentle glow of candles around the room, the detectives playing together on their violin's the song that they had spent the past several weeks composing just for John and Mary's first dance together. The rest of the guests had formed a circle before the stage after the tables and chairs had all been removed from the room, watching from the edges as John and Mary began their first waltz together as man and wife, smiling widely at one another as they danced.

Amelia smiled broadly as she played the song, watching the couple dance, not needing to see the sheet music to play. It truly was magical to be able to witness as John and Mary dance together for the first time, happily married and with so much to look forward to in the months and years to come. She honestly couldn't have been more delighted for the two of them, she still recalled how many times she had smiled as John introduced her and Sherlock to his latest girlfriend, all the while knowing that the relationship would probably be over by the end of the week, just like with all his other girlfriends since she had first meet him. But here she was, at John's wedding, playing the song that she and Sherlock had composed for him and his wife. It was enough to make tears spring up in her eyes, but she desperately tried to hold them back and focus on playing the song and staying in time with Sherlock's playing.

Slowly, the song came to an end; John gently dipped Mary, making her gasp before laughing as everyone around the room began applauding and cheering, John kissing his wife. Amelia and Sherlock smiled and lowered their instruments, Amelia carefully clapping along with the rest of the room before reaching up to try and wipe a stray tear away before it could smudge her makeup. She caught Sherlock's eye and he shook his head at her.

"You truly are a sentimentalist, Amelia," he said over the clapping and cheers, having to edge closer to her so that she could hear.

She grinned at him, winking, "Just a part of my charm, Holmes," she said cheekily, moving to carefully sit her violin aside in its open case on the stage floor behind her, before straightening and moving back to Sherlock, reaching across to pick up his boutonniere that he had left sitting on the music stand, moving to clip it back onto his lapel. She smothered his lapels and shoulders, meeting his eyes, her heels making her the same height as him, "One more speech and you're done," she reminded him, ignoring the cheers and clapping still going on, giving him a gentle smile, "You've been amazing all evening, Sherlock, I am so proud of you".

Sherlock's expression softened very slightly, looking almost touched for a moment before he cleared his throat awkwardly and reached out to lightly touch her elbow, as if trying to express to her his appreciation without saying it openly. He gave her a nod before he turned back to face the front of the stage and the microphone that was set up. John and Mary turned towards the stage, John waving up to them with a wide smile before pausing to sneak another quick kiss from Mary, the rest of the guests all growing silent and also turning to give their attention to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began as the clapping started to die down, all eyes back on him, "Just, er, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologise for earlier. A crisis arose and was dealt with," he took a deep breath, glancing back to Amelia as she stood slightly behind him, off to the left of the stage, earning a small little smile in return. He gave her a small nod and turned back to the microphone, "More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I'm unlikely to make one again…" John threw him a pointed look over towards Amelia, which he swiftly pretended not to notice, carrying on with the rest of his closing speech. It was bad enough his mother seemed to have become obsessed with marriage, let alone John giving him little pointed looks like that, "So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow," he focused on John and Mary, "Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will _always_ be there, _always_ , for all three of you".

Amelia's eyes widened in horror as John and Mary blinked, staring back up at Sherlock, startled, while Sherlock looked quite shocked himself, apparently not having meant for _that_ to slip out during his speech. She hurried forward and leaned close to the microphone, fixing a very fake smile onto her lips, "That…he meant to say the _two_ of you!" she told them, almost frantic as she elbowed Sherlock's side a little harder then she meant to, " _Both_ of you," she laughed, the sound horribly high pitched and borderline hysterical, quickly clearing her throat, "He just…got a little confused with all the candle light and miscounted, plus, he's had a few glasses. Right, Holmes?" she looked quickly back to Sherlock, desperately hoping that Mary and John would buy it, but she doubted it. This was so not the way that they should have found out.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed, nodding a little too quickly to be believable, rubbing his side slightly from where she had elbowed him. He gave the very confused couple a forced smile, while Mary glanced back to John, looking a little worried, "I just miscounted, that's all," he shifted slightly on the spot and moved closer to the microphone, trying to move on, "Anyway, it's time for dancing!" he glanced back over his shoulder to the DJ that was set up at the back of the stage, "Play the music again, please, thank you," he sighed in relief as the lights dimmed even more and brightly coloured strobe lighting began flashing around the dance floor, while fast pace music began beating through the room, "Okay, everybody, just dance!" he called over the music, trying to urge people onto the dance floor with his hands, , "Don't be shy!"

Amelia grabbed his arm, lightly tugging him over to the edge of the stage as people, thankfully, started taking to the dance floor, most seeming not to have noticed his little slip, Mary and John still looking quite confused as they stood in the middle of the floor, "Come on, Holmes," she muttered in his ear, knowing that they needed to explain themselves.

They stepped down from the stage and weaved their way through the dancing people towards the couple, "Sorry," Sherlock said to them over the music as they neared them, "That was one more deduction than I was really expecting".

"'Deduction?'" Mary repeated, staring back at him with wide eyes.

Amelia and Sherlock exchanged a quick look, before Amelia sighed and turned back to Mary, her expression softening, "Mary, you've been eating more than usual lately," she said gently, giving her a slightly apologetic look, hoping that she wouldn't end up getting offended, "And your taste has also changed. That wine you picked for the wedding that you positively adored a month back, only to find that you hated it today," she bit her lip, glancing at John and back to Mary, "You were also feeling quite queasy this morning and was even ill, but assumed it was just wedding nerves," she gave her a little smile, "And then when I asked you if you were sure your were alright, you snapped at me, which really isn't like you, Mary".

"All the signs are there," Sherlock looked between John and Mary.

"'The signs,'" Mary frowned.

He hesitated slightly and looked to Amelia, who looked as if she was struggling not to just blurt it out, and then glanced across to John, "The signs of three," he eventually replied, turning back to Mary, his eyes flickering pointedly down to her stomach.

"What?" she gasped, her mouth falling open in shock.

"Mary…" Amelia gave her a broad smile, reaching out to comfortingly rest her hand on her shoulder, "I really do think that you should take a pregnancy test before you go away on you honeymoon".

John exhaled sharply and lowered his head, almost doubled over, looking almost close to fainting, while Mary broke into a delighted smile.

"Well…th…the statistics for the first trimester are…" Sherlock started to explain, looking a little awkward. Apparently accidently letting slip that your friends were pregnant on their wedding day was just a little bit out of his comfort zone.

"Shut up," John cut across him as he straightened, his expression firm, making Sherlock freeze in the middle of forming a word. He held up his fingers, staring somewhere over Amelia's shoulder as Sherlock waited, "Just…shut up".

"Sorry," he said a little sheepishly, closing his mouth. He really hadn't meant for it to slip out like that.

"It was an easy mistake to make, Holmes," Amelia muttered to him, patting his arm sympathetically, knowing that he did actually feel a bit guilty about it. She was actually quite surprised that she hadn't let anything slip throughout the night; she supposed that not having to do any speeches and sitting down the table from John and Mary had helped a great deal in preventing her from saying anything.

John shook his head, looking quite annoyed, though Amelia suspected that it was aimed more towards himself then Sherlock, "How did _they_ notice before me?" he turned to Mary, "I'm a bloody doctor".

"I'm a woman," Amelia shrugged, unable to resist the slightly smug little smirk from crossing her face.

"It's your day off," Sherlock reminded John, not looking the slightest bit concerned.

"It's _your_ day off!" John exclaimed, turning back onto them, starting to look a little frantic now.

"Easy, now," the brunet tried calming him, giving him a stern look as she quickly cast her eyes back around the dance floor, though they had been thankfully ignored by most of the dancers surrounding them. She looked back to John, her expression softening, "Just stop panicking…"

"I'm not panicking!" he insisted at once, making her laugh and give him a pointed look. He was starting to sound like a child now.

"I'm pregnant," Mary breathed, her eyes wide, " _I'm_ panicking".

"Don't panic," Sherlock told them calmly, "None of you panic," he back and forth between the couple as they looked down at the floor, both looking quite shocked and worried, "Absolutely no reason to panic".

John's head snapped back up to him, "Oh, and you'd know, of course?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, I _would_ ," he nodded as Amelia glanced at him curiously, "You're already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you've had!"

"What practice?" he asked, confused.

Amelia laughed and pointedly linked her arm through Sherlock's, looking back to John with her eyebrows raised.

"Well, you're hardly gonna need me around now that you've got a _real_ baby on the way," Sherlock said lightly, looking directly at John.

John stared back at him for a long moment before Sherlock broke into a wide smile, which John very quickly returned, looking completely delighted now that the shock seemed to have worn off. He laughed and clapped Sherlock on his back, before lowering his arm, just in time for Amelia to lean forward and throw her arms around him a tight hug, grinning broadly, so very happy for both John and Mary. She released him after a moment and turned to Mary, kissing her cheek before laughing apologetically as she quickly used her thumb to wipe the lipstick mark away, moving back to Sherlock's side as they watched John turn to his smiling wife, still laughing as he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"You all right?" John asked her, a little breathless from all the laughing.

"Yeah," Mary nodded, still looking a little dazed over the whole thing.

Amelia glanced at Sherlock to see his smile slowly dimming as he looked at the happy couple, growing slightly sad. If he had thought that John getting married would change things, than just what must he think about them having a baby? She couldn't blame him for feeling like it was the end of an era because, in a way, it was. John was going to be a dad and his main focus would have to be his child, which was exactly how it was supposed to be, but that didn't mean that she didn't feel a little sad to think that things would be changing. A baby changed everything, it made things more complicated and harder, it was one of the reasons for why she hadn't really wanted to have children when she was younger, she hadn't wanted that burden on her career, which had placed a strain on her yearlong marriage. But if anyone could do it, it would be John and Mary, and she and Sherlock (she very dearly hoped so, anyway) would always be there to help them. She gave Sherlock a small smile and discreetly placed her hand on his arm, squeezing his arm through the fabric of his morning coat as she turned back to John and Mary.

"You two ought to go and dance," she told them, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had fallen over the small group, the music still beating loudly. She gave them a broad smile, hoping to try and give Sherlock a chance to compose himself before they noticed his shift in mood.

"Mm?" John blinked, looking back to her in confusion.

"Both of you, now, go dance," Sherlock said quickly, glancing at Amelia, knowing exactly what she was trying to do and feeling quite grateful for it, "We can't just stand here. People will wonder what we're talking about".

"Right," he nodded slowly, though he did look a little stunned and made no move to leave.

Mary sniffed, her eyes looking quite watery as reached out to take John's hand, "Come on, husband," she said tearfully, "Let's go".

"This isn't the waltz, is it?" he pointed over his shoulder, making her laugh and shake her head fondly.

"Don't worry, Mary, Amelia and I have been tutoring him" Sherlock assured her, half joking as Amelia nodded, laughing faintly at the memory. Poor John, he wasn't a natural dancer and seeing him dancing with Sherlock was truly one of the funniest sights she had seen all year, she was planning to give the recording to everyone as a part of her Christmas present, with a little bit of editing on her part, such as with a large pink love heart forming around the two of them while they danced in the living room of Baker Street, right before John caught her recording and broke off the dance to try and get her phone so that he could delete it. Thank God she hadn't been wearing heels at the time.

"They _did_ , you know," John told Mary as they slowly began to move away from the detectives, heading further out into the middle of the dance floor, "Baker Street, behind closed curtains," he stepped closer to Mary as she moved her hand up to rest on his shoulder, entwining her right hand with John's left hand, looking highly amused by her husband's story, "Mrs Hudson came in one time," he grinned, "Don't know how _those_ rumours started!"

Mary laughed as he sniggered as the two of them moved further off into the crowd of people already dancing, swaying together even though the song wasn't really meant for a waltz. Mary looked over John's shoulder to them and gave them a soft smile, mouthing, 'Thank you,' Sherlock and Amelia happily giving her a little smile and nod in return.

Amelia glanced at Sherlock and sighed slightly as she noticed his smile slip from his face, his expression growing distant as he watched distractedly as the rest of the guests danced together. Even Janine had found herself someone, the same sci-fi fan who Sherlock had pointed out to her during his speech, the man's girlfriend notably missing. Amelia reached out to take his hand, making him blink and look back to her.

"Let's go outside for a moment," she called over the music, giving him a gentle smile.

Sherlock nodded and lightly tugged her back over towards the stage, stepping up onto it to pick up the sheet music still pinned to the music stand. He carefully folded the paper up and slipped it into its envelope that had, 'Dr. and Mrs Watson' scribbled across it in black pen in his handwriting, their joint wedding present to the happy couple. They headed back to the top table to grab their coats, Sherlock popping the back of his collar up as Amelia shook her head fondly at him, before they passed Molly and Tom dancing together with Mrs Hudson as they slipped unnoticed out of the doors and into the small gardened area outside.

Amelia wrapped her arms closer around herself, her trench coat already warming her up in the chill of the night air, though it did nothing for her legs that were only covered by her stockings. She supposed that she probably ought to be used to the cold, considering that she was Irish, but in her defence, she had spent more time in England then in her own native home. Still, you would have thought that she would be able to bear the cold much better. She released a breath, watching as it turned into a puff of white mist into the air and floated away, before she glanced across to Sherlock as he stood beside her, looking up at the night sky.

"Is this when you try to tell me that nothing's going to change?" Sherlock said after a moment, breaking the silence.

She eyed the side of his face, "No," she shook her head, sighing, "A baby changes everything…or so I've heard," she looked away from him and out across the darkened garden, "Still, nothing can last forever and this is a good thing. Wonderful, actually. John and Mary are going to be wonderful parents".

"I expect so".

She looked back to him and moved closer to him until their arms were touching, she was even the same height as him in her heels, "It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" she said quietly, earning a slightly startled look from him, which she pretended not to notice, "I have to admit, even I'm a little scared by how fast everything seems to be moving, but it couldn't stay like it was two years ago. John moved on, just as he was supposed to, and now you and I just have to get used to the changes that come with that".

He frowned at her, his eyes narrowing, "I'm not afraid".

"No?" she said ideally, clearly not believing him as she looked back to him, meeting his eyes, "Well, regardless, I do hope you know that no matter what, you and me and, yes, John, will always be friends. Not even a wedding or baby could ever change that".

"I didn't think it would," he sniffed, though she did notice that he was less tense then he was when they first stepped out from the reception room and his expression seemed to have lightened slightly.

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling quite pleased with herself. Sherlock really was quite easy, he liked to hide his true feelings beneath his usual facade, but she could always see passed the act and see that he truly was feeling quite upset over the idea of possibly losing John. He might have her, but he and John had a different type of friendship, one that wasn't also mixed up with romance, which she felt was a very important thing for them to both have. He and John could understand each other in a way that she doubted that she could, given their genders and the fact that women and men did think and feel differently. Sherlock got something from his friendship with John that he couldn't get from her, and then there was also the fact that he didn't exactly find it easy to make friends. The loss of one friend was felt so much more painfully for him, especially when it was someone as close to Sherlock as John was, someone who accepted him and didn't expect him to be any different from who he already was.

"I see what you did there," Sherlock interrupted her thoughts, eyeing her closely, but she could already tell that he wasn't annoyed, nor was he still dwelling over everything with John.

"I haven't got a clue what you're talking about, Holmes. All those glasses of champagne must be going straight to that curly head of yours".

"Hardly," he scoffed, turning his eyes back up to the night sky.

She laughed, but her laughter quickly died as she watched him for a moment, considering whether or not she really should bring it up, when she decided that she might as well, "Sherlock…" she began slowly, "What does 'Redbeard' mean?"

Sherlock looked surprised for a moment, giving her a long look, "Nothing of importance," he eventually replied.

"Liar," she accused at once, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she went on, her expression softening, not wishing to upset him when he was already in a bit of a state over everything else.

He was silent for a long time, so long that she actually thought that he wasn't going to say anything, when he released a long breath and looked back out over the garden, "Redbeard was my dog when I was a child," he told her, his voice quite low, forcing her to have to strain to hear it over the sound of the music blaring inside the reception room, "Occasionally, Mycroft likes to mention my…attachment".

"Mycroft really is a rubbish big brother, isn't he?"

Sherlock laughed, looking back to her, his expression warm, "Yet another thing we have in common, it would seem," he remarked lightly.

Amelia smiled and reached down to take his hand, ignoring how cold his fingers were. She doubted hers felt much better, "I suspected you were a dog lover," she admitted, looking at him curiously, "There has to be more to the story then that, though".

The warmth faded and he shrugged, looking away again, "Redbeard died, that's it".

"Oh, Holmes, I'm so sorry. The loss of a pet, especially for a child, is one of the most horrible things".

"Why are you apologising?" he frowned at her, actually seeming to be confused. It was hardly shocking that the dog had died; it was almost thirty years ago.

She looked back to him, "Because it clearly still has an impact upon you, otherwise Mycroft wouldn't have mentioned it," she looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, "Is that really the whole story?"

"Redbeard was there one day, gone the next. I was very young and no doubt I've deleted the memories. There hardly relevant".

"I beg to differ and I sincerely doubt if even you could delete something like that from your own memories, but clearly you're uncomfortable with the topic, so I'll drop it".

Sherlock was silent for a long moment, when he suddenly turned towards her, "It occurs to me that we haven't danced properly yet," he said, surprising her quite a bit as he slipped his arm around her waist.

Amelia quickly moved to rest her hand on his shoulder, breaking into a broad smile at the very unexpected gesture on his part, "It occurs to me, too," she commented lightly, letting him move them in a slow waltz, the music slower than the last song, but still not quite slow enough for a waltz. She laughed as he spun her out suddenly, apparently deciding to speed up the dance more and spinning her back towards him, before dipping her backwards before she could even blink. He pulled her back up abruptly, smirking at her as he slipped back into the slow swaying of before, "Show-off," she shook her head, feeling slightly breathless now.

He smirked, settling them into a gentle swaying on the spot, "I was thinking…" he began hastily, looking at something over her shoulder, and Amelia couldn't help finding the slight pink tinge to his cheeks to be rather curious, "Perhaps I should go back to London…" Amelia frowned and went to open her mouth to try and protest, when he continued quickly, "Or I could stay here".

"Of course you can," she nodded, giving him a slightly puzzled look, wondering what of Earth he was going on about. He wasn't making sense to her, "I thought that was the idea in the first place. Mary booked us a room; I even brought an overnight bag. We'll have to share the bed, of course, but that's hardly anything to be fussed about for us, is it?"

"You don't understand," he sighed, looking slightly frustrated and the pink in his cheeks seemed to be growing brighter and brighter. He stopped swaying them, but made no move to let her go, "I could stay _here_ , with _you_ ".

Amelia frowned deeply, still feeling completely lost, "Isn't that what we're already doing?"

"Amelia, we've been together for six months now…" he said through gritted teeth, looking as if it was taking all over his will power to try and get the words out.

She stared at him, mentally running over everything he had said to her, until she thought that she might have some idea of just where he was trying to go with all of this, "Sherlock," she said quietly, "When you say that you want to stay here with me, you mean…" she cleared her throat, wondering why on Earth she was feeling embarrassed by this when she was hardly inexperienced when it came to this sort of thing, "Well, you mean…that you want to go to the next stage in our relationship?"

Sherlock was blushing more then she had ever seen or thought him capable of and he abruptly released her, but when he did speak, his voice was steady and he looked at her directly, "Yes".

Amelia blinked, feeling quite shocked. This was certainly not what she expected would happen, not in the slightest, "Are you serious?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

He rolled his eyes at her, some of his usual impatiens and exasperation returning, "Of course".

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Nothing".

"Right…" she nodded slowly, grateful when she felt her face start to cool down, though she did wish that her heart rate would slow down and that some of the shock would fade. To be fair, it had been quite some time since anyone had suggested something like that and she really hadn't imagined that it would be Sherlock, of all people, who would be suggesting it right now, at John and Mary's wedding. She took a deep breath and swallowed, looking back to his face as he carefully observed her, "Let's get a drink first, shall we?" she gave him a soft smile and leaned in to kiss him, drawing back with a teasing smirk, "Then, maybe, we'll see where this very _long_ night takes us".

He raised his eyebrows at her, most of the pink now having disappeared from his own cheeks as he offered her his hand, which she happily took, together stepping back into the reception room in search for the bar. The night was still very young, after all, who knows just what else it might have in store for them?

 _ **So…have Sherlock and Amelia really consummated their relationship? Quite possibly. It wasn't exactly the most romantic way to go about it, either. I do hope that it didn't seem to be out of character for Sherlock, I tried to make it clear just how awkward over the whole thing he was, but it's quite hard to try and imagine how something like that might come up without seeing anything remotely similar in the show happening. Next chapter, drastic changes have happened since we last saw our detective, Amelia isn't happy with Mycroft, and John might not be suited to domestic bliss. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	15. Chapter 15 His Last Vow, Part 1

_**His Last Vow, Part 1**_

Amelia settled herself more comfortably into her seat in the back of her cab as it pulled away from the front of the pickup area of the airport, heading off for Baker Street. She looked back out the window at the already very busy morning traffic, mentally calculating just how long the trip would probably take and no doubt cost her by the time they reached Baker Street, but she couldn't bring herself to care very much about it. In fact, returning to Baker Street after being away in Ireland for the past three weeks was making her feel a little nervous, but she refused to let it get to her too much. It was her home too, regardless of anything else that might have happened since John and Mary's wedding a month ago.

She was happy to have gone to Ireland, she felt like she was home again when she was there, which really was strange considering how much more of her time that she had spent in England. She had even gone to her childhood home, back to her family estate that was now hers after the lawyers and government officials, including Mycroft, had finally been able to come to the conclusion that, since she was her brother's closest living relative and no will had been found, she was his heir. Of course, there was still the little issue of her brother being a criminal, so while most of what they had been able to figure out belonged to James was still under close inspection as they tried to ensure that they weren't purchased or acquired through illegal means, there was a few things that they had been able to determine were legally obtained, one of those things being the Moriarty family estate in the little Irish country village of Delgany.

The place was a bit run down after almost twenty years of having no one live in it or properly care for it, all of the windows and doors having been boarded up at some point and most of the furniture moved into storage. She had spent the past three weeks dealing with all the legal affairs, she was dreading getting the bill in the mail, then there was also starting to figure out what needed to be done to the property to bring it back to life. The roof needed replacing for starters, a lot of the attic floor that had once upon a time been the servants quarters had also been damaged by water, and she had received a phone call from her contractor that some of the brickwork and windows also needed replacing, and that wasn't even touching on the inside décor that was in desperate need of work. It was turning out to be a very expensive and long project that James had left for her to have to deal with, which really was quite fitting for him. He was still giving her hell from beyond the grave.

She released a heavy sigh and sat back into her seat, turning her attention off the window and passing traffic, her cab's progress actually faster then she had first thought, which was always a bonus. She absently reached up to straighten the mauve coloured paisley tie that she had tucked into her brown waistcoat over the top of her white blouse, a matching brown blazer and trousers included in the look. Her hair was up in a French twist and she was also wearing eyeliner, red lipstick, and red nail polish. Her shoes were patent leather ankle boots; she had a pair of small purple quartz drop earrings. After dealing with lawyers and people wearing suits for the past three weeks, some of their style seemed to have rubbed off on her.

Amelia's phone began ringing, the song that she and Sherlock had composed for John and Mary's wedding filling the back of the cab as she quickly grabbed for her handbag sitting on the seat beside her, quickly unlocking the latch and reaching inside to fish out her phone, the screen reading 'John Watson'. She clicked the little green phone icon on the screen and lifted the phone up to her ear.

"John!" she called over it, delighted, "Are you and Mary back from your honeymoon yet? I'll have to come over this afternoon to see you both, maybe we can go out for coffee…" she frowned slightly, remembering that Mary was pregnant, "Or maybe tea, instead. Whatever works for your two…"

"Amelia," John's voice cut across her, making her instantly close her mouth, her frown deepening. There was something off about his voice, he sounded…stressed and worried, and she could hear in the background the faint noise of a car engine, so he was travelling in a car, likely with Mary driving if he was speaking to her on his phone. He sighed heavily, "Amelia, it's Sherlock…"

"No, don't call her!" Sherlock's voice sounded from the background, annoyed.

"Shut up, Sherlock!" John snapped back.

Amelia winced slightly and gripped the edge of her seat tighter, her fingernails digging into the fabric until her knuckles turned white, "John, I think you should probably know something about Sherlock and I…" she began warily, biting her lip.

"Oh, like the fact that you and he apparently broke up?" he shot back sarcastically, making her grimace slightly. Oh, he really wasn't happy about this, was he? "Yeah, Sherlock's told me already and I've got to say, it makes a lot of sense considering that I just found him a bloody drug den with a bunch of junkies".

She froze, her eyes widening as what he just said sunk in, "I'm sorry?"

"Sherlock bloody Holmes in a drug den! And where have you been? He won't tell me anything, just that you broke up"

She swallowed, hating his accusing, angry tone, "I've been in Ireland, I didn't know he'd relapsed," she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, feeling sick to her stomach, "Oh, God, is he okay?"

"We're taking him to Bart's to be tested. I've already called Molly…"

"I'll be there as soon as I can," she cut across him, knowing that she needed to go there, even if it meant having to face Sherlock. They might have broken up, but it had been mutual and their friendship was still very important to her, even if it was likely going to be very awkward for them both for a while as they both try to adjust to everything that had gone on during the months that they were together. But Sherlock had relapsed and badly, it seemed, and she couldn't not go to his side when he needed all the support that he could get right now. She just wished now that she hadn't left London, she should have been there, even just as a friend and kept an eye on him. She should have known that he was on the edge. She would just have to swallow her own feelings.

"Amelia," John's voice grew softer and more concerned, like he was purposely trying to stop the others in the car, more than likely Sherlock, from hearing whatever he was going to say, "What happened with you two? Last time I saw you…you were happy together".

She sighed and opened her eyes, lifting her head to stare straight ahead of her, "I'll see you soon, John," she told him firmly, before ending the call. She slipped the phone back into her bag and smothered her hands down her front, trying to calm her nerves, "Excuse me," she called to the cab driver, who glanced back up to her in the review mirror, "Can you take me to St. Bart's Hospital instead?"

"Yes, ma'am," the driver nodded to her, preparing to change lanes in the traffic.

Amelia took a deep breath and looked out the window, trying hard not to think about just how awkward seeing Sherlock was going to be. After all, they had both agreed that it would be better to end their romance while they still had a friendship. It was better this way…or so she had thought before Sherlock relapsed.

…

Sherlock looked awful; his hair was all over the place and looked unwashed, while he was wearing an old pair of tracksuit pants and a hooded jacket. He hadn't shaved in a few days, either, nor did he look like he had a decent night's sleep, judging by his bloodshot eyes. His head snapped up as Amelia pushed the doors of Molly's lab open, her footsteps faltering very slightly as she felt his gaze on her, but she continued on into the room, wheeling a large black suitcase behind her, and over to where Molly was examine a small vile with a yellow substance in it beneath her microscope, John standing a short distance away from Molly, his arms crossed across his chest. There was another two men with them, clearly both addicts, though the older of the two was living on the streets with his shabby clothes and darting eyes, but Amelia didn't recognise either of them as they lingered further to the back of the room with Mary, who was wrapping a bandage around the older man's arm.

"Amelia," John greeted her as she moved to stand beside him, sitting her suitcase down beside her legs. His eyes flickered back and forth between her and Sherlock as he waited for them to say something, but they remained silent. He narrowed his eyes before he settled back onto her, neither detective looking at each other, "So…" he began.

"Don't, John," she muttered, swallowing hard as she did whatever she could do not to let her eyes wonder back across to rest on Sherlock, "Not now. I'll…I'll tell you later".

John eyed her carefully, looking very close to arguing, when he sighed and gave a small nod, turning his attention back onto Molly. He needed to know what the hell could have possibly have happened while he and Mary had been away. Amelia and Sherlock had seem happy together during the wedding, closer than he had ever seen them, they had even stayed together in the same room and he suspected that something more might have gone on between them, so to find out that they had broken up was a complete shock to him. They had been together for over six months, what could have possibly have happened in the span of a few weeks to change everything? Had Sherlock just simply become too much for Amelia to handle? Or had Amelia taken her teasing a bit too far? He needed to know and he needed to know what this might do to their partnership, too.

Molly straightened from the microscope, her expression unreadable as she began to slip her purple latex gloves off, the latex snapping loudly as she did so. Amelia winced as she watched, that wasn't a good sign, not from Molly.

"Well?" John raised his eyebrows at Molly, "Is he clean?"

She threw the gloves back onto the lab bench, turning towards him, "Clean?" she repeated coldly. She turned and stepped over to stand before Sherlock, before suddenly slapping his left cheek, the sound echoing through the room as Sherlock barely even moved. Mary and the two men looked up at the noise, watching in shock as Molly slapped him again, on both sides of his face.

"Molly!" Amelia gasped, stunned, her eyes wide as she dropped her handbag onto the floor by her suitcase and hurried over to the pair. She hesitated slightly, before straightening her shoulders and moving to Sherlock's side, resisting against the urge to reach up and touch his pink cheeks as he grimaced slightly, though he was otherwise completely unmoved by what had just happened.

"How _dare_ you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with?" Molly said angrily to Sherlock, her voice shaking with emotion, glancing briefly to Amelia and then over towards John, and back to Sherlock, "And how _dare_ you betray the love of your friends? Say you're sorry," she demanded.

Sherlock reached up to touch the side of his face with a pained grimace, "Sorry your engagement's over," he replied calmly, ignoring the sharp look Amelia shot him, practically ordering him to stop talking. He rubbed his stinging cheeks, "Though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring".

"Sherlock, _enough_ ," Amelia said sharply, her voice cold as she stepped over to Molly, who was staring back at him, looking as if she was either going to burst into tears or start slapping him again, likely the most physically harmful . She put a hand on Molly's arm, half-comforting, half-restraining her from trying to smack him again, even if he likely deserved it for that remark, "That's quite enough," she fixed him with a firm look.

He scoffed, looking back to her, no warmth in his expression, "You're not my girlfriend any more, Amelia," he said, sounding flippant and slightly childish, "You don't get to tell me what to do".

She laughed, rolling her eyes, "Yeah, like you ever even _listened_ to me when we were dating".

John quickly moved to try and stand between the two of them before Sherlock could say something to tip Amelia over the edge. If they had been bad before at getting on each other's nervous, he didn't imagine that being so recently broken up would have helped matters, "Sherlock, if you were anywhere near this kind of stuff again, you could have called," he told him, his voice low, "You could have talked to me, if not Amelia".

"Oh, _please_ do relax," Sherlock sighed in exasperation, closing his eyes briefly as he looked over to him, "This is all for a case".

"A ca…" he stared at him, shaking his head in disbelief as Amelia bit her lip, her eyes flickering back and forth between them, "What kind of case would need you doing this?"

"I might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work".

"No," he shook his head, his face growing harder as Amelia raised her eyebrows at him, also rather curious about that new little development. Riding a bike through all that traffic wasn't much faster than taking a bus or driving, John since having gotten his licence during their two year absences, nor was it the most safe method, "We're not playing this game," he said firmly as he shot Amelia a quick look, catching her own interested expression as he turned to walk away from them.

"Quite recently, I'd say," Sherlock added, watching him go, "You're very determined about it".

He turned back around to face them, "Not interested".

" _I_ am," the slightly older man, who was being tended to by Mary, spoke up, sitting on a lab bench behind them. They all turned to look back to him, when he suddenly winced, "Ow," he glanced back to Mary as she continued wrapping his arm.

"Oh, sorry," Mary sighed, briefly looking up to him. Amelia was a little amused to see that she was still dressed in her pyjamas with a grey dressing gown, "You moved. But it _is_ just a sprain".

"Yeah," the man frowned slightly, looking rather disgruntled, "Somebody 'it me".

She blinked, looking back up to him in confusion, "Huh?"

The man looked directly across the room to John, who shifted a little uncomfortably as Amelia glanced over to him, too, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, noting how he was wiggling his fingers on his right hand, "Eh, just some guy," he muttered, lowering his gaze from John.

"Yeah," John cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes, trying hard to ignore the looks Amelia and Sherlock were giving him, studying him closely, "Probably just an addict in need of a fix".

Amelia crossed her arms across her chest, not taking her eyes off John, who was still avoiding their eyes. He couldn't have made himself anymore obvious to them if he had simply come straight out and told them that he had injured this man, "Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully, eyeing him still, "I imagine that's quite true".

John lifted his head to look back to them, before looking away again.

"Is it his shirt?" the man asked, glancing over to Sherlock.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock looked over his shoulder to him as Amelia glanced back to him, surprised.

"Well, it's the creases, innit?" he nodded over to John as everyone turned their attention onto him, their eyes resting on his white with blue plaid shirt, "The two creases down the front," he went on as John blinked, looking down his front, "It's been recently folded but it's not new," Amelia couldn't help feeling rather impressed by this man's keen eye, and she could see from the faint smile on Sherlock's face that he felt the same, "Must have dressed in a hurry this morning, so _all_ his shirts must be kept like that. But why? Maybe 'cause your cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an' then dress in the clothes you brought with you," Sherlock's eyebrows raised, looking rather impressed, while Amelia couldn't help shaking her head in amusement. He was good, she would give him that, she could certainly see his potential. The man kept his eyes fixed on John, not seeming to notice the other's expressions, "You keep your shirts folded, ready to pack".

Sherlock eyed the man for a moment, "Not bad," he remarked.

"Yes, very good," Amelia agreed, nodding to the man.

"An' I further deduce…" he continued, seeming to take their compliments as encouragement to keep going. Sherlock's eyebrows raised and he glanced at Amelia, who was looking as if she was trying not to smile, neither of them noticing John watching them closely. He focused back onto John, "You've only started recently because you've got a bit of chafing".

John blinked and dragged his eyes off the detectives, looking down at himself, frowning slightly at the front of his trousers. Amelia barely managed to hold her laugh in, not wishing to discourage the man when he was clearly talented, if a little inexperienced and uneducated in deduction, but those things could easily be worked on and she suspected that with a bit of work and time spent with either herself or Sherlock, he would make a decent detective. He would just need to get clean first.

"No, he's _always_ walked like that," Sherlock informed him, shaking his head as he looked back over to the man, "Remind me, what's your name again?"

The man lifted his chin, "They call me The Wig".

"No they don't".

"Well, they…they call me Wiggy," he corrected himself awkwardly.

"Nope".

Amelia laughed as the man sighed, looking disappointed, "Nice try, though," she gave him a friendly smile, "But seriously, what's your name?"

"Bill. Bill Wiggins".

"Nice observational skills, _Billy_ ," Sherlock complimented him as Mary looked rather amused. His phone suddenly dinged, singling that he had a text, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, checking it, "Ah!" he breathed, his eyes lighting up triumphantly as he read whatever was on the screen, " _Finally_ ".

"'Finally' what?" Molly asked, looking at him curiously from beside Amelia.

"Good news?" Bill looked at his back.

"Oh, excellent news," he looked up from his phone, breaking into a delighted smile, "The _best_ ," he looked back down to his phone and began tapping away on it, absently turning to head over towards the door, "There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers! The game is on," he briefly paused before the doors as he lifted his phone up to his ear, giving them a quick little smile as most of the room, save for Amelia, all looked at him in confusion and bewilderment, "Excuse me for a second," he spun back around and pushed the doors open, disappearing out into the hallway.

Amelia sighed, glancing at John, "It's great to be back".

….

John sat between Sherlock and Amelia as they headed to Baker Street in the back of a cab, heading straight from Bart's Hospital, while Mary drove Bill and the younger man, Isaac, who turned out to be one of John and Mary's neighbour's son's that had gone missing and his mother had turned up on John and Mary's doorstep, sobbing that morning. Apparently, that was why John had been in a drug den in the first place, which made a lot more sense to Amelia, since she had been rather confused about just what he had been doing in a place like that in the first place. Most of the trip was spent in silence with neither detective saying a word to each other, though Sherlock had stopped to assist Amelia with her luggage, which John supposed was a good sign that there were serious about remaining friends.

"You've heard of Augustus Magnussen, of course," Sherlock said after several minutes of silence, looking out the window as their cab drove over a bridge.

"Of course," Amelia nodded at once, pulling her eyes off her own window to look across John to him.

"Yeah," John agreed, "Owns some newspapers, ones I don't read".

"But I'm guessing there's more to him then just that, though," the brunet commented lightly, seeming strangely unconcerned about the whole thing. John shot her a quick look, which she pretended not to notice.

Sherlock looked away from his window and frowned deeply, glancing around the back of the cab for a moment, seeming confused, "Hang on, weren't there other people?" he asked, even glancing back through the back window.

Amelia shook her head, amused, " _Wonderful_ detective work, Holmes".

"Mary's taking the boys home, we're taking _you_ ," John explained to him, giving him a slightly exasperated look, "We did discuss it".

Sherlock paused, thinking about it for a moment, "People were talking, none of them me…" he shrugged, not looking worried, "I must have filtered".

"I noticed," he said dryly, exchanging a look with Amelia.

"I have to filter a lot of witless babble. I've got Mrs Hudson on semi-permanent mute".

"Charming," Amelia muttered, before pausing, glancing back across to him with a very small smile, "Though, in fairness, I can understand the compulsion".

Sherlock lifted his eyebrows, his expression lightening very slightly as he meet her eyes, while John narrowed his eyes suspiciously and looked between them again. For a couple that were supposed to be broken up, they certainly did seem to be getting along, in fact, he barely noticed anything different between them, safe for perhaps a little less warmth surrounding them. Sadly, just as John went to make a remark, the car pulled up outside 221B front door, drawing Sherlock attention away from Amelia and out the window, his expression growing hard almost at once.

"What is my brother doing here?" he huffed in irritation, glaring through the window at the door. He grasped the doorhandle and opened the door, stepping out onto the footpath.

"So I'll just pay, then, shall I?" John called after him, leaning sideways in his seat to reach for his wallet.

"Hang on, John," Amelia said quickly, pulling her handbag open and grabbing her purse, pulling out a couple of bank notes to pay for her share of the trip. He gave her a grateful look as he finished paying the driver, while she slipped out of the car and moved to grab her luggage, John moving to help her to pull it up onto the footpath, Sherlock busy glaring at the front door of 221B.

"He straightened the knocker," Sherlock complained as they joined him before the door. He glanced back over his shoulder to them as Amelia adjusted her handbag more comfortably across her body, dragging her case with her other hand. The doorknocker had been moved so that it was straight, opposed to how it was usually left slightly askew, "He always corrects it," he gestured to the knocker, "He's OCD. Doesn't even know he's doing it," he shook his head and purposely pushed the knocking sideways, before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

"Why'd you do that?" John questioned, moving to follow behind Amelia and her suitcase.

"Do what?" he asked blankly.

"Nothing".

Amelia glanced back over her shoulder to John, smirking, "Yes, Mycroft's the _only_ one with OCD," she said softly to him, rolling her eyes. And he went on about Mycroft not even being aware of it, talk about denial.

John smiled and closed the door behind him, the three of them continuing on through the inner door, only for Sherlock to come to a stop just ahead of them and rolling his eyes. Mycroft was sitting on the stairs with his umbrella, looking calmly back to them, apparently having been waiting for them to get back.

"Well, then, Sherlock," he began in greeting, eyeing his little brother, "Back on the sauce?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, his voice cold, "What are you doing here?"

" _I_ phoned him," John informed him, sighing slightly as Sherlock shot him a dark look. Amelia cast him a quick look, too, frowning faintly.

"The siren call of old habits," Mycroft commented lightly, drawing their attention back to him as he paused, looking thoughtful, "How very like Uncle Rudy, though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you".

Amelia raised her eyebrows, casting Sherlock a quick look, "Well, you do have the legs to pull it off," she said with a small, teasing smirk.

Sherlock gave her a glare and turned away from her with a huff, crossing his arms across his chest, not even looking at John as he said, " _You_ phoned him".

"'Course I bloody phoned him," John replied with a small, amused smile at Amelia's teasing, not the slightest bit bothered by Sherlock's clear annoyance.

"'Course he bloody did," Mycroft said very seriously, fixing Sherlock with a hard look. Any of the lightness that he had shown before was gone now, his eyes growing colder, "Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

"Did you just say 'We?'" Amelia frowned slowly, really not liking the sound of this.

"Mr Holmes?" the very familiar voice of Anderson called down the stairs from above them.

Amelia groaned, closing her eyes in exasperation, "Of all people, you called Anderson?" she opened her eyes to give Mycroft a dark look, not at all pleased with the idea of Anderson and no doubt other strangers roaming around her and Sherlock's flat, meddling with things and shifting them around, even if she could understand why Mycroft felt it was needed. Plus, she was still struggling to figure out just how to feel about Anderson after years of him hating her to his transformation into her and Sherlock's biggest fan. It was a little disconcerting.

Mycroft simply stood calmly and moved aside as Sherlock glared at him angrily, "For _God's_ sake!" he exclaimed furiously, storming passed his brother and up the stairs, Amelia and John following right on his heels, John sighing heavily as he did so, exchanging a quick look with Mycroft as he passed him.

They made their way up to the landing and across to the open kitchen door to find Anderson and a middle aged woman standing by the fridge, clearly in the middle of searching the kitchen. They both turned towards them as they entered, the women's eyes widening as she caught sight of Amelia and Sherlock.

"Anderson," Sherlock growled angrily, glaring at him, taking a step towards him. Amelia, without thinking, reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him from going any further, just a little bit worried that in his current state he might end up actually trying to hit Anderson. Sherlock stiffened beneath her hand and she winced, dropping her hand with an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Anderson told them, holding his gloved hands up apologetically, still holding a small cotton swab in his fingers, "It's for your own good".

Sherlock huffed, irritation written across his face as he sat his keys down on the kitchen table beside him, glancing up to meet Amelia's eyes briefly. Amelia gave him a slightly strained smile and swallowed, forcing herself to look away, her eyes landing on the middle aged woman that was still staring at them both, looking rather stunned.

"Oh, that's _them_ , isn't it?" the woman breathed, suddenly breaking into a smile as she looked back to Anderson, her attention swiftly moving back onto the detectives. Amelia gave her a slightly awkward smile, still not entirely sure how she felt about being famous, while Sherlock turned on his heel and walked into the living room, pulling his hood of his jacket up over his head as he walked over to his armchair. A man with a stripy jumper was sitting in it with a book in his hands, but he hurriedly scrambled out of the seat as Sherlock approached and sat the book aside on the table by the chair, before hurrying off towards the landing through the living room door. The woman continued to eye them both curiously, which was a little unsettling to Amelia, "You said he'd be taller," she commented to Anderson.

"He get's that a lot," Amelia said with a polite smile in the woman's direction, "Excuse me," she turned and moved into the living room door, quickly casting her eyes around the room with a small frown, trying to determine just how many things their search had disturbed. She was a little surprised to find that John's old armchair was now gone, the space it once sat in looking very strange to see so empty. She glanced back over to Sherlock, who was now sitting in his chair, a sulky expression on his face. Yes, perhaps going to Ireland truly had been unwise.

Mycroft stepped into the kitchen doorway beside her, looking back to Sherlock with a small smile on his face, "Some members of your little fan-club," he told him, "Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat".

"It seems like _you're_ the one who has forgotten _their_ manners here, Mycroft," Amelia turned towards him, crossing her arms across her chest, fixing him with a warning look, "I live here, too, and I won't listen to you disrespect it," she gave him one last glare before storming further into the living room and grabbing one of the dining table chairs, swinging it around and sitting down, casually crossing her legs with her arms still folded.

Sherlock made a funny noise, like he was holding back a laugh as he curled himself sideways onto his chair with his head resting on the armrest, hood still pulled over his head. He closed his eyes, though there was a faint upturn to his lips.

Mycroft sniffed haughtily, not exactly used to being spoken to like that and lifted his chin higher as he focused back onto his little brother, "You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock," he said as if nothing had happened, "You can't afford a drug habit…as you well know, Miss Wilson," he looked across to Amelia, his tone turning colder.

She raised her eyebrows calmly, not the slightest bit concerned about what Mycroft Holmes had to say to her, "Sherlock and I broke up, _Mr Holmes_ ," she shot back in the same icy tone that he had used, "I am not in charge of what your baby brother get's mixed up in, so kindly stop acting as if I am responsible for all of this," she waved her hand around the room and towards Sherlock.

"Leave Amelia out of this, Mycroft," Sherlock ordered him, sounding annoyed as he opened his eyes to glare back over towards his brother, narrowing his eyes at him, "And I don't _have_ a drug habit".

John, who had been looking around the kitchen, frowned as he appeared in the kitchen doorway and moved further into the room, staring at the empty space that his chair once filled, "Hey, what happened to my chair?" he asked, pointing to the spot it used to sit in, glancing back up to Sherlock.

"It was blocking my view to the kitchen," Sherlock replied with a small shrug of his shoulders, still curled up in his funny little sideways ball.

"Well, it's good to be missed," he said sarcastically, glancing back to Mycroft.

"Well, you were gone and Amelia never sits in it. I saw an opportunity".

"No, you saw the kitchen".

Amelia frowned at Sherlock, not believing that for a moment, knowing that Sherlock didn't have any real interest in cooking, not unless it had something to do with an experiment. She was the one who did the cooking, anyway, and she'd been away for the past three weeks. More than likely the chair had simply been too much of a reminder for Sherlock to be able to cope with seeing each and every day, but of course he wasn't going to admit that, not in front of John and Mycroft, anyway. She might be able to get it out of him with a bit of effort on her part, but she knew that he wouldn't admit the truth to anyone else, regardless of their breakup.

Mycroft turned back towards Anderson, "What have you found so far?" he raised his eyebrows at them, "Clearly nothing".

"There's nothing _to_ find," Sherlock insisted, closing his eyes in exasperation.

He ignored him, looking down the small hallway that led to Sherlock's bedroom and the bathroom, "Your bedroom door is shut," he remarked, slowly walking down the hall towards it, while Sherlock sighed heavily, "You haven't been home all night and Amelia's been away for the past three weeks. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do such on this occasion?"

Sherlock's head snapped up and he absently pulled the hood of his jacket off his head, watching his brother nearing his closed bedroom door with a faintly nervous expression crossing his face, though it happened so quickly that Amelia very nearly missed it as she looked between Sherlock and the door. It was only once Mycroft had reached out his hand to grasp the doorhandle that Sherlock struggled out of his curled up position to sit upright, gripping the armrests of his chair.

"Okay, stop!" he shouted, almost urgently, his eyes fixed on his brother's back, "Just stop," he sighed heavily as Mycroft turned the handle but didn't push the door open, waiting, "Point made," he glared down at a patch of floor in front of his chair.

"Jesus, Sherlock," John breathed, shaking his head.

"Oh, Sherlock…" Amelia said sadly, reaching up to rub her forehead.

Mycroft turned away from the door and calmly walked back into the kitchen, "Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma," he said as he looked directly at his brother, who closed his eyes briefly and grimaced, "Won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing. And then, of course, there's your little breakup…" he shot a quick look over to Amelia, who frowned at him, "I'm sure they'll be terribly upset to hear all about that".

"Don't you think they ought to hear about the breakup from myself and Sherlock, Mycroft?" Amelia said with a cold tone to her voice, very much disliking the way that Mycroft seemed to be trying to make the breakup such a big deal. She and Sherlock had ended it upon mutual agreement, it wasn't as if it had ended messy or even how she would considered it to be badly, but the way Mycroft was acting, she might as well have handed Sherlock the drugs and told him to take them, or at least that's how she was feeling right now.

Sherlock stood from his chair with a sigh and walked closer to Mycroft, "This is not what you think," he tried telling him, looking completely sincere, keeping his voice carefully level, "This is for a _case_ ".

"What case could possibly justify this?" Mycroft questioned, eyeing him with a slight smile on his face, obviously just humouring him.

"Magnussen," he replied calmly, and Mycroft's smile instantly vanished and his expression hardened. Even Amelia shifted slightly uncomfortably and stood from her chair, instantly feeling the tension in the room rise between the brothers's, "Charles Augustus Magnussen," he spoke very clearly, pronouncing each name without blinking or taking his eyes off his brother's stony face.

Mycroft looked at him for a long moment, before he slowly turned away from him, drawing in a long breath through his teeth as he faced Anderson and the other woman, who were watching everything unfolding silently from the kitchen.

"That name you think you may have just heard…" he began, looking at them with an almost dangerously blank expression on his face, "You were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you, on the behalf of the British security service, that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration," he looked between them both as Anderson's eyes widened and the woman stared back at him, not appearing to know if this was just a joke, "Don't reply, just look frightened and scuttle".

Anderson seemed to have the good sense to realise just how deadly serious Mycroft was being and quickly placed a hand on the woman's back, ushering her out of the kitchen and onto the landing, closing the door behind them as their footsteps sounded a moment later going down the stairs. Mycroft turned back to face Sherlock, Amelia, and John, taking a step closer to them as his cool eyes landed on John and Amelia.

"I hope I won't have to threaten you two as well".

John raised his eyebrows at him, his arms crossed across his chest as he exchanged a quick look with Sherlock and Amelia beside him, "Well, I think we'd all find _that_ embarrassing," he commented lightly, and Sherlock snorted with laughter.

Amelia smirked at Mycroft, who glared back at John, "But you're more than welcome to try," she said with a small shrug, "I'm sure we would all be appreciative for the laugh right about now".

Mycroft shot her a dark look before looking sharply at Sherlock, "Magnussen is not your business," he told him sternly.

"Oh, you mean he's _yours_ ," Sherlock pointed at Mycroft, narrowing his eyes.

"You may consider him under my protection".

"I consider you under his thumb," he shot back, pointedly looking him up and down.

"If you go against Magnussen…" Mycroft said quietly, his voice full of warning, "Then you will find yourself going against me".

Amelia laughed and shook her head, "Oh, yes, because that makes such a _huge_ difference," she scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest as Mycroft turned his attention onto her. She meet his eyes calmly, "Thank you for the warnings and the mild threats, Mycroft, I'm sure we'll take it all into _very_ serious consideration".

Sherlock's mouth twitched very slightly for a moment as he brushed passed his brother, who was staring unblinkingly back at Amelia, and moved into the kitchen without even glancing at Mycroft, "Er…" he pretended to think as he stepped across to the kitchen door, "What was I going to say? Oh, yeah," he reached the door and pulled it open, mock cheerful, "Bye-bye," he held the door open and gestured with his finger for Mycroft to leave.

Mycroft pulled his eyes away from Amelia, who had refused to show the slightest bit of nervousness while he had been glaring at her, and turned around to walk into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to turn back to Sherlock, "Unwise, brother mine," he said coolly.

Sherlock reacted before he could even blink, grabbing Mycroft's left arm just below his elbow and twisting his arm up behind Mycroft's back, before slamming his brother face-first into the tiled wall beside the open door, making Mycroft cry out in pain and surprise. John and Amelia quickly looked at each other, their eyes widening as they moved forward.

"Brother mine…" Sherlock hissed furiously as he breathed rapidly, keeping Mycroft pinned painfully as he gave his wrist a little twist, making an unpleasant cracking noise sound through the room, "Don't appal me when I'm high".

John stepped closer to them, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's face, quite concerned about just what Sherlock might do next when he was in this state, "Mycroft, don't say another word," he advised him firmly, keeping his voice low, "Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might".

"Sherlock," Amelia said in a very level voice, stepping closer to Sherlock, "Let him go. Snapping your brother's arm, while I'm sure would be quite enjoyable…" she ignored the small grunt that came from Mycroft's direction, keeping her eyes on Sherlock, "Isn't going to help matters right now," she hesitated slightly, before she reached out to lightly touch Sherlock's shoulder, her voice growing sharper, "Let go, Holmes".

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly before releasing a long sigh and let go of Mycroft's arm, backing away from him as Mycroft grimaced painfully, grabbing at his upper left arm. He turned towards Sherlock, opening his mouth, but Amelia swiftly stepped between them.

"Don't speak," she told Mycroft before he could get a sound out, her expression hard, "You know what he's like when he's in this state better than anyone else, so I suggest you leave now while you still have the use of all your limbs," she pointed towards the open kitchen door, watching from the corner of her eye as Sherlock disappeared back into the living room.

"Don't forget this," John added, bending down to pick up Mycroft's umbrella, which must have slipped off his arm during the small scuffle. He held out the umbrella to Mycroft and cleared his throat pointedly, just wanting him to leave before another more serious fight could break out. Mycroft gave them a quick look and snatched the umbrella out of his hand, before turning and walking out of the door with as much dignity as he could muster, disappearing down the stairs with his left arm still held a little tenderly towards his chest.

Amelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before opening them again to look at John, sharing the same slightly concerned look. That had been very close, Sherlock could have easily have snapped Mycroft's arm without even blinking, though Amelia did have to secretly admit that she didn't completely blame him. The way Mycroft was behaving, she felt pretty close to wanting to punch him herself. She moved back into the living room with John, finding Sherlock standing in the middle of the room with his back to them, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Er, Magnussen?" John asked him, trying to come up with something to say just to break the silence in the room.

"What time is it?" Sherlock lowered his arm to his side, still not turning.

Amelia cast the kitchen clock a quick glance over her shoulder, "Three minutes passed eight, Holmes".

He nodded and sniffed, pulling a disgusted face as he turned back around to face them, "I'm meeting him in three hours," he muttered, blinking slightly as if he was trying to wake himself up, walking passed them and back into the kitchen, "I need a bath".

"Good idea," she said under her breath as he passed her, heading for the hallway and the bathroom, wrinkling her noise slightly at the stench of him. He seriously did need a good clean, his clothing alone probably needed to be burnt because she very much doubted if even her favourite drycleaners who could got bloodstains out of silk would be able to get the smell off those clothes. She still was amazed that she was able to sit in the back of a cab with him without needing to put the window down on the trip back from Bart's Hospital.

"It's for a case, you said?" John said as he watched Sherlock's retreating back, trying to make sense of just what sort of case could possibly have lead Sherlock back into taking drugs.

"Yep," Sherlock replied without pausing or looking back to him.

"What sort of case?"

"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in," he reached the bathroom door and grabbed the doorhandle.

"Which is exactly why we're getting involved," Amelia commented with a small smile, glancing at John.

John shook his head slightly, looking faintly amused, "You trying to put me off?" he called after Sherlock.

"God, no," Sherlock looked back down the hallway to them, "Trying to recruit you," he gave them a quick little smile and pushed the door open, disappearing inside the bathroom, "And stay out of my bedroom…both of you," he added from within the room, just before he closed the door and the sound of running water from the shower reached them.

Amelia glanced at John, raising a mischievous eyebrow, "Shall we, Doctor Watson?" she held out a hand in a dramatic sweeping gesture towards the hallway, turning to focus on the closed door at the end of the hall.

"You don't think it's anything dangerous, do you?" John asked her quietly, though he still began walking through the kitchen and around the table, casting the bathroom a quick look, half-expecting Sherlock to come out at any moment to stop them…hopefully wearing a towel.

"Might be," she shrugged, lowering her voice as they tip-toed passed the bathroom door, which was slightly awkward for her in her heeled boots. Still, the noise of the water ought to prevent Sherlock from hearing them. She flashed John a small grin, winking, "Why do you think I got you to go first?"

"Oh, thanks," he muttered sarcastically, throwing her a look, though he wasn't really offended. He knew she was only joking…well, he hoped so anyway. He was less than four steps away from Sherlock's bedroom door, when it was suddenly opened and the last person he imagined appeared in the crack, peering out at him and Amelia, who had frozen in the middle of the hallway, staring back at the person in shock. Was that…oh, bloody hell! She was even wearing one of Sherlock's shirts with little else beneath it, by the looks of things.

"Janine?" Amelia gasped, actually taking a small step back, her eyes wide.

"Oh, John, Amelia," Janine smiled slightly embarrassedly, "Hi," she stepped out a bit further from the door and tried pulling the edge of the shirt down a bit more, though it was little use. John and Amelia continued staring at her, John's moth almost on the floor, "How are you two?" she cleared her throat awkwardly, shifting from one barefoot to the other.

John blinked slowly, completely stunned by this…he wasn't even sure what the hell this was, but he knew for certain that he had never expected to come across _this_ in Sherlock's flat, coming out of _Sherlock's bedroom_ in _Sherlock's shirt_ , "Janine?" he said slowly in disbelief, before his eyes widened and he quickly glanced at Amelia, only to find her seeming to have suddenly taken a great deal of interest in the green wallpaper on the hallway walls, biting her bottom lip.

"Sorry," Janine tugged at the shirt again before crossing her arms across herself, "Not dressed," she began to walk down the hallway, John and Amelia quickly moving aside to let her pass, "Has everybody gone?" she asked, heading into the kitchen as they followed behind her, "I heard shouting".

"Uh…yeah," Amelia said in a slightly higher voice than normal, once again taking a great deal of interest in a small burn mark on the kitchen table, while John kept shooting her little worried looks, "All gone, the flat's empty…aside from us. Oh, and Sherlock, of course…" she broke off with a small cough, frowning slightly down at the burn mark.

Janine nodded absently and checked her watch, "God, look at the time," she sighed, walking around the table and over to the kitchen sink, which had several cups and plates piled up beside it, though they all seemed to be clean, "I'll be late," she grabbed the cafeteria from the pile to start making herself coffee, "Sounded like an argument," she continued, glancing back over to John and Amelia, "Was it Mike?"

John frowned slightly in confusion, dragging his eyes off Amelia, who really was looking at that burn mark far too intently for his comfort, "Mike?" he repeated.

"Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike. They're always fighting".

"You mean Mycroft," Amelia corrected her, her voice still sounding strangely forced, like she was trying hard to keep it level.

She looked up from the cafeteria, grinning, "Do people _actually_ call him that?"

"Yeah," John nodded slowly, quickly looking back and forth between both women, wondering just what he was supposed to do or say right now. Amelia was clearly upset, he could tell from the frown on her face that she was and the fact that she seemed to be doing everything she could to not look at Janine, while Janine seemed to be blissfully ignorant to the fact that she was standing in the same room as Sherlock's ex…while wearing Sherlock's shirt and clearly having spent the night in Sherlock's bedroom. His first instinct was to try and get Amelia away from the situation, after all, Amelia was one of his best friends and she was clearly hurting, but that might be difficult with Janine seeming to be wanting to chat.

"Huh!" Janine laughed slightly, before she turned away from the counter, "Oh, could one of you be a love and put some coffee on?" she asked, pointing her thumb back to the cafeteria as she moved around the other side of the table, seeming to be heading for the hallway.

Amelia cleared her throat loudly and finally lifted her head from the table, giving Janine a very bright and friendly smile, though it looked just a tad too happy for John to be able to believe it, "Yeah, of course," she said, nodding, "I'd be happy to".

"Thanks, Ames," she gave her a grateful smile, not noticing the way that Amelia's smile slipped very slightly at the nickname. She paused briefly as she passed by John, reaching out to lightly touch his shoulder, making him turn around to her as Amelia took a deep breath and moved to grab a cup and spoon first, "Ooh, how's Mary?" she grinned at John, reaching out to lightly nudge his arm, "How's married life?"

"She's fine," John said with a slightly puzzled expression on his face, "We're both…fine, yeah".

"Oh, it's over there now," Janine said suddenly to Amelia, pointing across to the far cupboard, just as Amelia had reached to open one of the cupboards to grab the coffee out.

Amelia blinked slightly, surprised, "Right…" she sighed slightly, struggling to keep a smile on her face as she moved across to the cupboard she had indicated, opening it to find the coffee right there in front of her. She was pleased to at least find that it was the same brand that they usually got.

"Where's Sherl?" Janine looked around, earning a funny look from Amelia as she sat the jar of coffee down on the counter a little harder then she meant to.

"Sherl," John breathed out, looking quite bemused by the idea of any one referring to Sherlock like that without Sherlock throwing a complete fit over it. He shook his head and cleared his throat, giving her a small smile as he tried to regain his composer, "He's just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute".

"Oh, like he ever is," she laughed fondly, turning around and heading off down the hallway again.

"Yeah…" he muttered, frowning slightly at how very strange and awkward this whole thing was, even if it seemed like he and Amelia where the only ones finding it to be. He looked up and caught Amelia's eye as she turned to lean against the counter, her expression strangely blank now.

There was a knocking sound from the hallway before the sound of the bathroom door being opened reached them, making John and Amelia's eyes widened, realising where Janine had gone off to, "Morning!" her voice travelled back to them brightly, "Room for a little one?"

"Morning," Sherlock's voice floated back to them, followed by the sound of his laughter and Janine's giggles, the sound of water splashing around reaching them a moment later, just as the door closed.

"Ooh!" Janine's muffled voice drifted through the door, followed by more laughter and giggling from them both.

Amelia closed her eyes tightly, gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles as John blinked slowly, wondering whether or not someone had slipped him something because this situation was just too weird for him. He looked back to Amelia as she opened her eyes; "Are you…" he began hastily.

"Feeling nauseated, yes," Amelia cut across him, nodding with a grimace, "Excuse me, I think I had better take my suitcase up to my room and get away from…" she paused, throwing the hallway a quick glance, "Well, whatever the hell that is supposed to be".

"Yeah," he glanced back down the hallway too, shaking his head at the sound of laughter still echoing through the door, "I'll give you a hand".

Amelia gave him a fleeting smile and pushed herself off the counter, heading out of the kitchen door and out onto the landing, quickly moving downstairs as John followed close behind her, both feeling quite relieved to be away from the weirdness of upstairs for the moment. Her suitcase was still sitting at the bottom of the stairs where she had left it and she and John both grabbed one end of it and helped carry it up the two set of stairs to the top floor, dropping it in the middle of Amelia's bedroom floor.

"Thank you, John," Amelia said gratefully, straightening her blazer and giving him a broad smile, "I still haven't got a clue how I dragged it downstairs in the first place. Gravity, most likely".

John rubbed his arms slightly, panting slightly, "No problem," he waved her off, eyeing her for a moment, "Amelia, what happened with you and Sherlock?"

"We broke up," she shrugged, moving to sit down on the edge of her bed, the covers still made from the day she had left three weeks ago. She would likely have to change them, though; she didn't like to think about what the dust must be like on everything within the room.

"Did you know about Sherlock and Janine?"

She frowned slightly and looked away from him, "No, I didn't know about them, that was…very surprising".

"Very surprising?" John gave her a startled look, laughing, "I feel like I stepped into another Universe down there," he hesitated slightly as Amelia smiled faintly, "Was it because of Janine that the two of you…"

"John, are you asking me if Sherlock left me to be with Janine?" her head snapped up to fix him with a very steady look.

"I know that the three of you got to know each other at the wedding, I just thought maybe Janine and Sherlock started talking after the wedding…"

Amelia suddenly started laughing and John blinked slightly, not expecting that reaction, "Sherlock wasn't cheating on me or anything," she said through giggles, shaking her head at the mere suggestion of it, "Believe me, I know cheaters. Most of my cases used to be cheating related, I've been cheated on before, and…" she lost her smile, sighing, "I've personally been involved with cheating a long, long time ago…" John's eyes winded slightly at that, but she continued on quickly, her cheeks flushing faintly with embarrassment, "Sherlock isn't a cheater, John, he and Janine had _nothing_ to do with our breakup".

"Then what happened?"

"We just started bickering a lot and it got the point where we both realised that we were in danger of destroying our entire relationship if we kept it up, so…we decided to end things while we could still work together. Our working relationship has always come first".

John frowned at her for a long moment, shaking his head slowly, "It still doesn't make sense to me," he said, and she sighed, "You two always bicker, I figured it was just your way of flirting. Why would you just give up so easily?"

Amelia stood from the bed, absently smoothing down her waistcoat and tie, "It wasn't easy, believe me," she told him quietly, meeting his eyes, "And maybe one day we'll try again, I don't know, but right now Sherlock and I just need to focus on our friendship".

"And Janine?"

She swallowed, hard, "Sherlock is perfectly within his rights to date whomever he wishes to," she said in a slightly strained voice, "Do I wish he could have waited longer than three weeks to get another girlfriend? Yes, of course I do, but I'm an adult," she gave him a small forced smile that didn't meet her eyes, "And if Janine make's him happy then…great, wonderful. I'm…well, I can't exactly say I'm happy for them right now, but I can _try_ and be pleased that he found someone".

"Amelia…" John sighed, knowing that she was trying very, very hard to act like she was okay right now, when he could see that she wasn't. How could she be? She and Sherlock had only been broken up for three weeks and Sherlock already had a new girlfriend…or, at least that's what he assumed Janine was to Sherlock. That had to hurt, no matter the brave face Amelia tried to put on about the situation, "What can I do?" he asked, giving her a small, hopeful smile, "Do you want me to hit Sherlock? Because I will gladly take up any excuse to punch Sherlock Holmes's face".

Amelia laughed and he joined in with her, "As much fun as that would be for me to watch," she grinned, reaching out to pat his arm, truly quite touched by his offer, even though she knew it was mostly said in jest, "It wouldn't be very fair to Sherlock since we both agreed to breakup".

"Well, if you ever want to take up the offer…"

"You'll be the first one I call," she assured him, still grinning and feeling quite light now, "So…" she raised her eyebrows at him, "Shall we go back downstairs to see if _Sherl's_ dragged himself out of the tub yet?"

"This could be very scary," John remarked, moving towards the door.

Amelia hummed in agreement, following after him as she switched the light switch off before closing her bedroom door behind her. Yes, she imagined it likely could be very scary, not to mention very awkward for her, but she knew she was more than capable of gritting her teeth and getting on with it. She had to because the idea of Sherlock thinking for a second that she was jealous was just too much for her to be able to bear right now, she would rather throw herself out the window then let him think that for a second.

 _ **So…yeah, Sherlock and Amelia are over, did anyone else see that coming? John certainly didn't. I apologise for not updating in a while, I've been busy with other projects and school. Having said that, I have finished writing the first chapter of my spin-off story for this series, which will involve one-shots from the series, just like my Doctor Who one-shot story. It's going to be called 'Missing Pieces,' since it's going to be mostly containing short stories that we don't get to see in the main story. I'm planning to upload the story very, very soon, possibly even tomorrow or sooner.**_

 _ **Next chapter, Amelia just wants to be anywhere but Baker Street right now, John is trying to make sense of everything, and has Sherlock been replaced by an alien? Seems like the most logical assumption. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_

 _ **Guest reviews:**_

 _ **Lia:**_ _ **Well, I very much hope you enjoyed this chapter and that it was worth the wait. I'm sorry about how long it took me to get the chapter up. Thanks for the review :)**_


	16. Chapter 16 His Last Vow, Part 2

_**His Last Vow, Part 2**_

John was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, while Amelia was on the sofa as they waited, but they didn't have to wait very long before Sherlock emerged from him bedroom, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, pulling on his black blazer as he crossed the living room to his chair.

"So…" he began, turning towards John, who was eyeing him slightly. Amelia was being very careful to keep her face clear of emotions, "It's just a guess but you've probably got some questions".

"Yeah, one or two," John nodded, his eyes flickering briefly over his shoulder to Amelia, "Pretty much".

"Naturally," he adjusted his blazer around his shoulders, and turned to look back through the kitchen door where Janine had just disappeared into his bedroom, dressed in a floral dress, white cardigan, and a pair of white wedge heels. John followed his gaze as Amelia shifted slightly on the sofa; Sherlock smiled slightly and sat down in his seat.

John cleared his throat, looking back across to Sherlock, "So…you and Janine?"

"Yes, me and Janine," he agreed with a small sigh, turning in his seat so that he was facing both John and Amelia better, looking serious, "Now, Magnussen," he lowered his voice slightly, missing the frown that John was giving him as Amelia sat forward, listening closely, "Magnussen is like a shark, it's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, stood up to the glass?" he held out his hand and moved it through the air like something gliding slowly, "Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes…" he dropped his hand back onto the armrest, looking passed them for a moment, "That's what he is," he took a breath, focusing his eyes back onto John and Amelia, "I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serials killers, Amelia while ill…"

"Ha, ha," Amelia cut in dryly, making him smile faintly, "Very funny, Holmes. You might want to remember that you weren't sunshine to take care of while sick, either".

Sherlock cleared his throat slightly, growing serious once more, "But none of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen," he went on.

"You and Janine, you're really dating?" John frowned slightly, not appearing to have been listening to a word that Sherlock had been saying.

"What?" Sherlock blinked at him, taken aback by the change of topic.

"John, let it go," Amelia sighed tiredly, resting her elbow on the couch's armrest and her sitting her chin in the palm of her hand.

"You and Janine," John tried to clarify, needing to know for certain just what the hell was going on between those two. He still couldn't believe that Amelia and Sherlock were apparently over and that Sherlock had managed to already seemingly move on, didn't Sherlock even care about Amelia? He had always thought the two of them were good together, that they made a good match, like him and Mary, but if Sherlock could really go and find someone just three weeks later, what did that say about Sherlock? About any of it? "Janine's your _girlfriend_?" he eyed him.

Sherlock gave him a slightly annoyed look, "Yes, I thought that was fairly obvious…"

"You and Janine?"

" _Yes_. How many times do have to say it, John?"

"For God's sake, John," Amelia groaned in exasperation, closing her eyes, "Drop it already".

"I just trying to make sense of all of this," John shook his head, waving a hand between Sherlock and Amelia, just trying to figure out what could possibly have gone on during the past four weeks that had lead to all of this happening. The idea of Sherlock and Janine together was almost laughable to him and Amelia's story about the breakup being about preserving the friendship just didn't sit right with him, it seemed like they had given up to easily and that, to him, just didn't sound like Sherlock, let alone Amelia. He took a breath, looking back to Sherlock, "Care to elaborate? You know, about you and Janine's…relationship".

Sherlock sighed loudly in exasperation, looking very impatient, "Does it matter?" he huffed, closing his eyes and titling his head back as John continued looking at him expectantly, "Fine!" he looked back across to him, rolling his eyes, "Janine and I are in a good place and it's…" he paused, seeming to be searching for the right word, "Very affirming".

"I really should have taken a late flight home," Amelia muttered into her palm, ideally turning her gaze to the window, watching as the light played through the lace fabric, "I could have avoided all of this, could have had a nice sleep in…"

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, "You sound like you got that out of a book," he accused, pointing at him.

"Everyone got that from a book," Sherlock replied with a shrug.

Movement in the kitchen caught Amelia's eye and she lifted her head up from her hand, fixing a polite smile to her face as Janine appeared in the kitchen doorway, thankfully fully dressed and carrying her white handbag on her arm.

"Amelia, I love that shampoo and conditioner of yours," Janine said brightly, flashing her a wide smile as Amelia felt her smile falter for a moment.

"Thanks," Amelia said quietly, not entirely thrilled by the idea that someone else had been using her very expensive shampoo and conditioner, let alone that it was Sherlock's new girlfriend. There were certain limits and that was one of them, in her mind.

She didn't seem to notice a thing, however, still smiling away, "Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves," she looked at Sherlock and John, moving across the room to perch herself on the edge of Sherlock's chair as Sherlock welcomed her with a smile, wrapping his arm around her as she leaned close to his face. Amelia carefully made sure to look away from them, frowning faintly at the lace curtain, "And you, Sherl," she continued, inches away from his face, grinning at him, "You're gonna have to tell me where you were last night".

"Working," Sherlock told her, while John stared at the two of them wide eyes, shocked that they would be doing any of this lovey-dovey stuff right in front of Amelia like this, let alone that Sherlock would be going along with it. He had barely even held Amelia's hands in front of John while he and Amelia had been dating, let alone had Amelia sitting on his lap right in front of him.

"'Working,'" Janine repeated with a small sigh, "Of course," she gave him a small, knowing smile, "I'm the only one who really knows what you're like, remember?"

John blinked, his mouth almost dropping onto the floor as he looked back over to Amelia, finding her positively glaring at the curtains now with her hands clenched into fists in her lap. He was actually a little worried she might end up throwing herself at Janine soon and try and kill her, judging from the look in her eyes.

"Don't you go letting on," Sherlock said softly, reaching out a finger to lightly run his fingertip down Janine's nose, gently bopping the tip before moving to rest his hand on her arm, staring deeply into each other's eyes as if they were the only two in the room.

"I might just, actually," she breathed, before she blinked and seemed to remember that John and Amelia where still there, lifting her head to look across to John, "I haven't told Mary about this," she told him with a wide, slightly lovesick smile as John dragged his eyes off Amelia, who was still glaring daggers at the curtain, "I kind of want to surprise her".

"Yeah, you probably will," John nodded, thinking about what his wife would think about all of this. Mary, without a doubt, was going to be stunned by this development.

"But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!" she said excitedly, holding out a hand towards John, who raised his eyebrows in surprise, before she glanced at Sherlock.

"Yeah," Sherlock said almost eagerly, looking back across to John.

"Invasion of the Body Snatchers…" Amelia murmured, shaking her head in disbelief, even taking her eyes off the curtain to stare at Sherlock and Janine.

" _My_ place, though," Janine continued, playfully nudging Sherlock's shoulder, "Not the scuzz-dump," she and Sherlock both laughed.

"Yeah, dinner…" John said slowly, looking between the couple, looking a little unnerved by what he was witnessing. He had seen Sherlock in a relationship before and this so wasn't like Sherlock, not at all, "Yeah…"

"You're welcome to come, too, Ames," Janine added with a smile towards Amelia, who started slightly at being spoken to, "Ooh…" she said suddenly before Amelia could try to politely decline, checking her watch, "I'd better dash," she climbed out of Sherlock's lap and onto her own feet as John also stood, Amelia remaining in her chair, watching, "It was brilliant to see you both!" she grinned at Amelia and John.

"Nice to see you, too," Amelia forced a smile, giving her a little wave.

"Yeah, you too," John nodded to her, giving her a friendly smile that wasn't quite as bright as normal.

Sherlock stood and moved ahead of Janine, who was adjusting her handbag more comfortably on her arm, pulling the door open for her, "Have a lovely day," he told her, giving her a smile as she walked into the doorway, "Call me later".

She stopped in the doorway to turn back to him, reaching out to toy with the edge of his blazer, "I might do," she said teasingly, looking up at him through her eyelashes, "I _might_ call you…unless I meet someone prettier," she smirked and leaned forward, pressing her lips against his in a kiss.

John looked away quickly, desperately trying to shut out the image of seeing them kissing as the kiss grew slightly noisy. Amelia had her eyes squeezed shut, her hands gripping her knees tightly, practically praying for the ground to open up beneath her and swallow her up…or for Sherlock and Janine to be swallowed up, at this point she wasn't overly picky, just as long as she could shut out the picture or sound of the kiss. She almost sighed in relief when she heard the kiss come to an end, opening one eye up to check to make sure that it was really over to find Janine seeming to be whispering something into Sherlock's ear, before she smiled and walked out the door, Sherlock watching her go for a moment before he closed the door and spun back around, looking as if nothing had happened, all of the softness and tenderness fading completely as he suddenly seemed to become himself again.

"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner," Sherlock began, moving to stand in front of the fireplace, looking back to John and Amelia. He was even talking as if Janine had never appeared, "But he's _so_ much more than that," John stared at him, looking quite stunned, but he didn't seem to notice as he went on, "He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power," he stepped across to the dining table and pulled out a chair before where his laptop was sitting. He took his seat, lifting the laptop's lid as Amelia rose from the sofa and came to stand behind him, curious, "I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond".

"Fascinating," Amelia remarked, shaking her head slightly, "I can't believe I've never come across anything about him before, but then again, a man like that would hardly go about advertising it and those that he did blackmail, which I imagine is one of the ways he had been able to increase his wealth and influence, would hardly be able to come forward against him".

"Quite right, Amelia," he nodded to her, giving her a fleeting, approving look before turning his attention back onto the laptop screen, "He is the Napoleon of blackmail…" he brought up a set of pictures of a very large, modern looking building with lots of glass and curved lines, along with a map of the building's location in the middle of the countryside and a set of blueprints, "And he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. It's name…" he spun the laptop around so that John could see the screen, too, "…is Appledore".

John was still staring at Sherlock, not even glancing at the screen, "Dinner," he said in disbelief.

Amelia blinked and glanced at Sherlock, who looked completely confused, "Sorry, what, dinner?" he frowned at him.

"Me and Mary, coming for dinner…with…wine and…sitting…"

"John, did you even hear a word of what Sherlock just said?" Amelia asked slowly, giving him a slightly concerned look, wondering whether or not all the surprises and shocks had just been too much for him to handle in one day. She just had to watch her ex-boyfriend of three weeks snogging another woman that she actually quite liked and would almost have considered to be a friend, and she was still perfectly capable of getting on with business as usual. Why on Earth was John getting hung-up on dinner, anyway? It was _dinner_ , people eating and sometimes talking, perfectly normal.

"Seriously?" Sherlock frowned at John, shaking his head, "I've just told you that the Western world is _run_ from this house…" he pointed back to the laptop screen, still looking at John, "And you want to talk about _dinner_?"

"Fine," John shook his head, still unable to quite believe everything that he had just witnessed between Janine and Sherlock, waving a hand towards the computer, "Talk about the house".

He continued to eye John for a moment longer before he turned back to the laptop, while Amelia struggled to stop herself from laughing at both of them, rubbing her forehead. It was going to be a long day.

"It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world…" Sherlock continued to explain, glancing back up to John and Amelia, "The Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals, and _none_ of it is on a computer".

"Clever," Amelia nodded, eyeing the floor plans for the house on the screen, "Computers aren't always very secure, they can easily be hacked if you have the money or the right skill set," she grasped the laptop screen and tilted it back very slightly, examining the plans more closely, "Which would mean that he's doing it the old fashioned way with hard copies, so he'll have to have some sort of secure room in his house, more than likely beneath it…a basement," she pointed to the floor plan, but the plan was mainly just a outline of the exterior walls that rotated to show all of the sides and angles of the house, but it didn't show anything within the actual building, "Or, perhaps more accurately, a vault," she straightened, glancing back over her shoulder to John, checking that he was still following and not getting distracted, again.

"My conclusion, too," Sherlock agreed, looking thoughtfully at the screen, "And as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy," he looked back up to them.

A soft knock suddenly sounded on the living room door, making all three of them instantly fall silent and turn in direction, "Ooh-ooh!" Mrs Hudson called as she pushed the door open, looking a little frazzled, "Oh, that was the doorbell," she pointed back down the stairs, "Couldn't you hear it?"

Amelia looked at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow, "What did you do to it _now_ , Holmes?" she asked with a small, exasperated sigh.

"It's in the fridge," he replied with a small, dismissive shrug, "It kept ringing".

"Oh, that's not a fault, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson told him with annoyed sigh, gripping the edge of the door.

"Who is it?" John asked, frowning slightly as he noticed how nervous and worried the older woman looked, shifting from side to side in the doorway, still clutching the edge of the door.

Mrs Hudson hesitated, taking a deep breath as she looked quickly over to Sherlock and Amelia, looking even more anxious then before. Amelia looked at her in concern before looking back to Sherlock.

"It's him, isn't it?" she said quietly, feeling a wave of apprehension wash over her. If this man truly was just as bad as Sherlock believed him to be, she really didn't want to have anything to do with him, even for a case. People like him, they knew no limits or lines, had no moral compass to guide them, they just did what they wanted for their own amusement and used people, the more powerful the person, the more entertaining for them. People like that, people like her brother, those were the people that she always felt disgusted by, even just by being in the same room as them, and she wanted nothing to do with them.

Sherlock shut the laptop lid and pushed back his chair, standing, "Magnussen," he nodded to her, meeting her eyes briefly before looking back over to Mrs Hudson, buttoning his blazer, "Let them up".

Mrs Hudson gave them one last worried look before she turned and disappeared back out the door, her footsteps sounding on the stairs as Sherlock moved to stand beside John before the fireplace, gesturing to Amelia for her to come stand between himself and John. She sighed and moved into position, crossing her arms across her chest as they waited for a brief moment before heavy footsteps thudded on the stairs outside, just before the living room door swung open and three large men in black suits stepped into the room, each wearing an earpiece, instantly scooping out the room as they entered.

"Oh, go ahead," Sherlock said with a mock sigh, rolling his eyes as he held out his arms beside him, already knowing what was coming as the three men neared them.

Amelia eyed the darked haired man that approached her, giving him a cool look as she uncrossed her arms and spread her arms out beside her, her whole body tense as the man quickly began patting her down, just as the first man did the same to Sherlock. The man worked quickly, his hands not lingering for any longer then they needed to as she forced herself to remain still, her eyes fixed steadily on the wall ahead of her until he had finished frisking her and given a satisfied nod, before turning to start checking out the rest of the room.

The third bodyguard looked expectedly at John, who frowned slightly at him, his own arms folded firmly over his chest, "Sir?"

John shot him a quick look before glancing back over to Sherlock and Amelia, "Can I have a moment?" he looked back to the man.

Sherlock lowered his arms back down to his sides as the man who had been frisking him stepped back from him, seeming stratified that he wasn't hiding anything, "Oh, he's fine," he shook his head at the man.

"Look," John began awkwardly as the man, pausing to glance back at Sherlock, crouched before John and started frisking him, "Er, I…right," he slowly held out his arms, blinking rapidly, "I should probably tell you…" he cringed slightly as the man reached his trouser pocket and pulled out a flick-knife, holding it up for them all to see, earning a startled look from Sherlock and Amelia, "Okay, I…" he pointed at the knife, "That and…" he sighed as the man pulled his jacket open, reaching inside before he suddenly rose and held up a silver tyre lever, looking at him as Sherlock and Amelia blinked, quickly exchanging a look. John took a small step towards the man, "Doesn't mean I'm not pleased to see you," he said quietly, nodding to the tyre lever.

Amelia couldn't help laughing slightly as the man simply stared back at John, not looking at all amused by his little remark.

"I can vouch for this man," Sherlock cut in, glancing at the man as he took a step back from John, "He's a doctor. If you know who myself and Amelia are, then you know who _he_ is…" he looked away from the man and over towards the living room door, his expression growing tighter as a man stepped into the doorway, "Don't _you_ , Mr Magnussen?"

He wasn't a very impressive looking man, in fact Amelia might have even have considered him to be quite average. He wasn't overly tall, nor overly slim. His hair was greying and he was looking quite thin on top, while even his suit that he was wearing was a grey colour with a dark tie, but it was his eyes, those cold blue, dead eyes that seemed to look straight through you behind a pair of glasses that was what really caught Amelia's attention, making her suddenly feel the urge to shiver. Sherlock was right, those eyes truly were like a sharks.

"I understood we were meeting at _your_ office," Sherlock remarked, eyeing Magnussen closely.

Magnussen looked around the room, his expression blank of any emotion, "This is my office," he replied lightly, a light Danish accent colouring his words, hands inside his trouser pockets as he casually walked further into the room and over towards the sofa, looking back over to them, his eyes lingering on John as information flashed passed his eyes.

 _John Hamish Watson._

 _Afghanistan Veteran (see file)_

 _G.P (see file)_

 _Porn Preference: Normal._

 _Finances: 10% Debt (see file)_

 _Status: Unimportant._

And then, flashing in red beneath the information:

 _Pressure Point: Harry Watson (sister), alcoholic, Mary Morstan (wife)._

"Well, it is _now_ ," Magnussen shrugged carelessly, waving a hand around as he stepped across to the small dining table and picked up a newspaper from amongst the mess of papers littering the table top. He turned and moved around the coffee table, taking a seat in the middle of the sofa, his eyes flickering back up to rest on Amelia, smirking slowly:

 _Amelia Grace Wilson (formally Moriarty, see file)_

 _Private Detective (see file)_

 _Consulting Detective (see file)_

 _Criminal Psychologist (see file)_

 _Finances: 1% Debt (see file)_

 _Brother: James 'Jim' Moriarty, deceased (see file)_

 _Status: Very Important._

 _Officially Deceased, 2011-2013._

And then, just as it had with John, the following information flashed up in red:

 _Pressure Point: Sherlock Holmes (ex-boyfriend, colleague, friend?), James Moriarty, John Watson (friend, colleague), Molly Hooper, Irene Adler, water…_

Magnussen's smirk grew as he eyed Amelia, making her shift uneasily on the spot before he finally turned his gaze off her, seeming to be taking an interest in the coffee table. Amelia struggled not to sigh in relief at the almost physical weight of his gaze finally shifted from her, never wanting to experience that awful feeling of someone looking directly into her very heart and soul again. It was worse than having someone deducing you, so much worse.

"Mr Magnussen," Sherlock began, his whole body tense, watching him carefully, shooting Amelia a quick, discreet glance from the corner of his eye, "I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters," he frowned slightly as Magnussen hardly seemed to even be listening to him, instead he shifted on the sofa, apparently finding it to be quite uncomfortable before he turned his attention onto the newspaper in his hand, "Some time ago you…" he continued, pausing as Magnussen glanced up to him, "….put pressure on her concerning those letters. She would like those letters back".

Magnussen calmly sat back against the sofa, simply staring back at Sherlock, information running passed his eyes:

 _Sherlock Holmes_

 _Consulting Detective_

 _Porn Preference: Normal_

 _Finances: Unknown_

 _Brother: Mycroft Holmes_

 _M.I.6 (see file)_

 _Officially Deceased, 2011-2013._

And, flashing rapidly beneath in red:

 _Pressure Point: Amelia Wilson (ex-girlfriend, colleague, see file), Irene Adler (see file), Jim Moriarty (see file), Redbeard (see file), Hounds of Baskerville (see file), Opium, John Watson…_

The information simply continued to scroll passed his eyes, so rapidly that it was almost difficult to even read it. It really was quite absurd; really, that a man so carefully disconnected from all but a select few people would have so many pressure points to be able to use against him.

"Obviously," Sherlock went on, unaware of what Magnussen was doing, but Amelia was frowning faintly, looking between them both, "The letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind…" he trailed off, narrowing his eyes on Magnussan as the man snorted lightly in amusement, still looking at him, "Something I said?" he asked, frowning at him.

"No, no," Magnussen shook his head, still looking faintly amused, "I…I was reading," he reached up to adjusted his glasses, his gaze still fixed on Sherlock, "There's rather a lot…" his eyebrows rose slightly as Sherlock's frown deepened, "'Redbeard?'" he remarked quietly, smiling as Sherlock stiffened and his mouth slipped open very slightly, while Amelia's eyes widened, her head snapping around to Sherlock, "Sorry," he shook his head, closing his eyes briefly, "S-sorry. You were probably talking?"

"I…" Sherlock paused, swallowing hard, quite taken aback by the fact that Magnussen knew about Redbeard.

Amelia looked at him in concern, before clearing her throat and turning back to Magnussen, careful to make sure that her expression was clear of any emotion, though she was inwardly still quite shocked by the fact that Magnussen apparently knew a great deal about them, far more than anyone ought to. There was no way that the press could have known about Redbeard, she had struggled to get Sherlock to even explain it to her, so how was it that he knew? How was it even possible that he could know something as personal as that about Sherlock? And if Magnussen knew that, what else did he know about them?

"Mr Magnussen," she said professionally, drawing his attention back onto her, "I do believe that Mr Holmes was attempting to explain to you that Lady Elizabeth Smallwood has requested that we act on her behalf in regards to…"

Magnussen looked over to the bodyguard standing beside John, "Bathroom?" he asked the man, cutting across Amelia, who blinked slightly, surprised by the interruption.

"Along from the kitchen, sir," the man told him, nodding through the open kitchen door.

"Okay," he nodded.

Sherlock frowned, starting to grow quite frustrated but trying very hard not to let it show. Magnussen was playing a game, a game of power right now and they needed to follow his rules in order to get what they wanted, for now, anyway, "I've been asked to negotiate the return on those letters," he explained firmly, watching him as Magnussen took off his glasses and folded them up, looking off towards the window, "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents…"

Magnussen, however, interrupted him as he looked around the living room, waving his hand around, "Is it like the rest of the flat?" he questioned, looking back across to the bodyguard again.

"Sir?" the man frowned slightly, confused. Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a quick look.

"The bathroom?"

"Er, yes, sir".

He glanced around again, "Maybe not, then".

"Please, Mr Magnussen," Amelia cut in, her voice growing harder with frustration and annoyance, just wanting to get this whole thing over and done with. She couldn't believe how difficult this man was; he was like a child who refused to listen and hardly seemed to even be the slightest bit interested in hearing anything that they had to say. She had thought that Sherlock was the most difficult person she had ever met, but this man was turning out to be even worse, "If you would be so kind as to tell us if you agree to us acting as an intermediary, we would be very grateful," she tried to give him a smile, hoping that a little bit of charm might work on him.

Magnussen looked at her for a moment before he looked back across to the window, "Lady Elizabeth Smallwood," he remarked, smiling faintly as he looked back to them, "I _like_ her," he looked directly at Amelia, popping his lips a couple of times before smirking at her.

"Mr Magnussen," Sherlock ground out through gritted teeth, his expression hardening as Amelia struggled to hold back a grimace, "Are we acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

"She's English, with a spine," he continued, speaking as if Sherlock hadn't said a word. He lifted his foot up and pushed the coffee table away from him, making Amelia and Sherlock both frown in annoyance as he stood from the sofa, straightening his blazer. One of the bodyguards moved around the detectives and over to the fireplace, removing the fire guard away from the front of it as they glanced back over their shoulders, "Best thing about the English, you're _so_ domesticated," he said as he walked closer to them, looking at the three of them with a funny little smile, "All standing around, apologising," he moved between Amelia and Sherlock, Amelia struggling not to flinch away from him as he purposely brushed passed her side, coming to stand before the fireplace, "Keeping your heads down…" Amelia's eyes widened in horror as he unzipped his fly, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the wall ahead of her, to stunned to even be able to try and say something, "You can do what you like here. No one's ever going to stop you."

He began urinating the fireplace, the noise of it splashing against the metal grating sounding as John looked positively appalled, but he still kept his back turned. Amelia, finally starting to get over her disbelief, opened her mouth and started to turn, furious and completely disgusted, but before she even had a chance to make a single sound, Sherlock grabbed her arm and held her firmly in place, giving her a warning look. Amelia glared at him and snapped her mouth closed in a furious line, just wanting to grab the back of Magnussen's blazer and give him a good bloody punch, but she knew just as well as Sherlock did that this was just a game on Magnussen's part. Besides, if she even tried to touch him, all three of his security guards would more than likely be on her before she could cause much damage.

"A nation of herbivores," Magnussen said, still urinating as he half-glanced back over his shoulder to them, "I've interests all over the world but, er, everything starts in England. If it works here…" he finally stopped urinating and jiggled slightly on the spot for a moment before zipping his fly as Amelia gritted her teeth, her hands clenched so tightly that her fingernails dug painfully into her skin, just trying to remind herself that this was all just a game on Magnussen's part, "…I'll try it in a _real_ country," he smirked, turning and walking back between Sherlock and Amelia as one of the bodyguards held out a packet of wet wipes. He took one and looked back to the three of them, absently wiping his hands as Amelia glared at him, not bothering to even try to hide how angry she was, "The United Kingdom, huh? Petri dish to the Weston world," he looked back up to Sherlock and Amelia, "Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them," he dropped the wet wipe onto the floor, "Goodbye," he moved to start heading towards the door, when he paused and reached into his inner blazer pocket, "Anyway," he laughed, turning back to them, pulling a small bundle of envelops just slightly out of his pocket for them to see, "They're funny".

Amelia crossed her arms across her chest, still seething with anger and disgust as she watched Magnussen smirk at them as he slipped the letters back into his pocket, turning and walking out of the room. His bodyguards all followed after him, their footsteps clattering loudly on the stairs as they went.

John took a step forward, staring at the door, making sure that they were really gone, "Jesus!" he hissed furiously, casting the fireplace a quick look behind him.

"I know," Amelia nodded quickly, storming across to the living room door and slamming it shut, feeling quite satisfied with the way that the whole door actually shook from the sheer force, though it was still did nothing to stop the urge to want to go after Magnussen and punch him. How dare he come into her home and…she was angry, she couldn't even _think_ about it without wanting to kick something. It was disgusting! If Sherlock hadn't stopped her, she would probably have lunged at Magnussen, bodyguards or not.

Sherlock was smiling faintly, still looking off at the opposite wall, "Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" he asked them quietly, earning a startled look from both Amelia and John.

"Wh…" John shook his head in disbelief, glancing quickly over to Amelia, who frowned slightly, "There was a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah," he gestured pointedly over towards the fireplace, breathing heavily in his anger.

"Exactly," he continued smiling, not even looking at him, "When he showed us the letters," he held up a finger and walked across the room.

John closed his eyes, unable to believe that Sherlock didn't even consider someone urinating in the fireplace to be 'extraordinary,' "Okay…." he muttered, opening his eyes.

"The letters…" Amelia said slowly, frowning as she watched Sherlock pace, having been a little bit distracted by her outrage to have payed much attention to the letters, but now that she thought about it, she could see what Sherlock was getting at, "He's brought them all the way to London, something he would never do unless he was prepared to make a deal".

Sherlock pointed to her, smiling wider, "And Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weakness, their 'pressure point,' he calls it," he nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. He moved across to the dining table and grabbing his coat from off the back of one of the chairs, pulling it on as he went on, "So, clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat," he finished pulling his coat on and paused to peer out through the window, looking down to the street for a moment before suddenly spinning back around to face them, " _And_ , of course, because he's in town tonight, the letters will be safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of the Great Britain for seven 'til ten".

"How…how do you know his schedule?" John asked quickly, frowning at him, while Amelia didn't appear to be the slightest bit surprised at all.

"Because I do," he shrugged him off, "Right, I'll see you both tonight. I've got some shopping to do," he turned and began heading for the living room do.

"Oh, of course," Amelia sighed, stepping out of his way as he strolled passed her and out onto the landing, "I spend the past seven months practically having to _beg_ you to go shopping with me, then the moment we break up, you're more than happy to shop," she shook her head tiredly, "Typical".

"Hang on!" John called after him, glancing at Amelia, "What's tonight?"

"I'll text instructions!" Sherlock's voice drifted back up to them, his footsteps thundering on the stairs.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, calling back, "Yeah, and I'll text you if _I'm_ available!"

"You are! I checked!"

John shook his head in disbelief and glanced at Amelia, who smiled slightly, "Did you miss us?" she grinned, winking at him before she turned on her heel and almost skipped out of the room, which was quite an accomplishment in her heels. He sighed heavily in exasperation and moved to follow after her, heading down the stairs to join Sherlock in the entrance hallway, already pushing the front door open as they reached him.

"Don't bring a gun," Sherlock told John as he stepped out onto the street, John right behind him, while Amelia paused in the door, leaning against the doorframe.

"Why would I bring a gun?" John questioned, frowning as Sherlock neared the side of the road.

"Or a knife, or a tyre lever. Probably best not to do any arm-spraining, but we'll see how the night goes," he lifted his arm up into the air to wave down an approaching cab, earning a laugh from Amelia.

John eyed him, "You're just assuming I'm coming along?"

"I think we can all agree that you're desperate to get out of the house, John," Amelia gave him a knowing smile as he looked back over his shoulder to her, just as the cab pulled up alongside Sherlock. She looked John up and down, her eyebrows rising, "Despite all of the cycling you've been doing, you've put on about seven pounds since the wedding, so the riding hasn't had much of an effect. No offense," she added with an apologetic look.

He frowned, looking down his front as Sherlock climbed into the back of the cab, "It's actually _four_ pounds," he said a little defensively, tugging at his jacket.

"Mary, Amelia, and I think seven," Sherlock called to him, closing the cab door behind him and looking out through the half-open window to them, "See you later," he sat down in the back seat, facing the windscreen, "Hatton Garden," he told the driver, and the cab pulled away from the side of the road and drove off down the street.

John watched it go with a annoyed frown before turning towards Amelia, who was frowning slightly, "Do you have any idea what he's up to now?" he asked, sighing.

Amelia continued to frown off down the street, "Just the one," she replied, knowing already just what stores where on Hatton Garden, before she shook her head and suddenly fixed a smile onto her face, looking back to him, "You're welcome to come up for some tea, John. Just give me a minute to give a cleaning service a call, there's no way I'm touching that fireplace," she grimaced in disgust at the mere thought of cleaning up _that_.

"Er, thanks," he nodded, quickly checking his watch before moving to follow Amelia back inside the flat. It was his day off and besides, he might even be able to get more information out of Amelia about what was really going on, because he was certain that she wasn't telling him the whole story.

….

It was later that night and Amelia had just climbed out of the back of her cab, quickly paying the driver before she turned around to look up at the front facade of the very tall, modern looking skyscraper that loomed above her, the name of the building, CAM Global News written across the front of the glass facade in huge silver letters. She eyed the building with disdain as she adjusted her handbag more securely on her shoulder before setting off across the damp pavement towards the revolving doors of the building, stepping through into the massive foyer, everything within the building seeming to be made from polished metal with white marble floors, several escalators leading off up to the upper levels of the room. She noticed John immediately, seeming to have only just arrived himself as he stood before the security barriers, frowning at them before he checked his watch, needing a card to open them.

"And breaking news now," a TV mounted to a wall of the foyer announced as Amelia silently sidled up beside John, an image of a middle aged man getting into a car flashing across the screen, "John Gravie MP has been arrested today on charges of corruption. This follows an investigation…"

"Hello, John," Amelia smiled cheerfully, making John jump in surprise and turn towards her, "Fancy seeing you here of all places".

"Really?" he sighed, exasperated. If it wasn't Sherlock seeming to be going out of his way to annoy me, it was Amelia.

Amelia simply laughed and playfully nudged his arm, before sticking her hands inside her trouser pockets and casting her eyes around the foyer, "No sign of Sherlock yet?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Right here," Sherlock's voice suddenly came from behind them, making both John and Amelia jump, turning around slightly to find him standing right behind them, smirking. Amelia rolled her eyes at him, though she was smiling faintly, "Magnussen's office is on the top floor, just below his private flat…" he explained to them, growing serious as he looked across to where the lift doors were just visible over the top of a metal banister on the upper level of the foyer, "But there are fourteen levels of security between us and him. Two of which aren't even legal in this country," he looked back to John, raising his eyebrows, "Want to know how we're going to break in?"

"Is that what we're doing?" John frowned at him.

Amelia smiled slightly, "Of _course_ , John," she shook her head at him, as if he was purposely being slow, "Why else would we be here right now? Admiring the architecture?" she laughed quietly as Sherlock rolled his eyes at John, who looked a little offended. She linked her arm with John's before doing the same to Sherlock, looking between them, "Come on, let's get a coffee. You know, at least _try_ to blend in a little bit around here, rather than just standing around, looking suspicious".

She turned and led them away from the security barrier, not needing to wonder around for too long before they finally stumbled across the canteen, ordering themselves three coffees. Once they had their coffees and had gotten past the security barrier with a quick swipe from a card that Sherlock had managed to get his hands on, the three of them began making their way over towards the escalator, Amelia feeling quite reassured in her three piece suit and tie that she actually fitted in for once. Was it a little sad that she actually felt quite proud of herself, a thirty five year old woman, for something as trivial as that? Meh, she supposed that there was worse things to be proud of.

"Magnussen's private lift," Sherlock informed them, nodding over towards the lift that they had been looking at before from a distance, "It goes straight up to his penthouse and office. Only _he_ uses it…" they stepped up onto the moving escalator as he went on, "And only _his_ key card calls the lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed," he reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a key card as they reached the top of the escalator and stepped off, slowly walking towards the lift, "Standard key card for the building," he held the card up for them to see, bringing them to a stop several feet away from the lift's doors, "Nicked it yesterday. Only gets us as far as the canteen," he glanced back to John and Amelia, waving the key card around, "If I was to use this card on that lift now, what happens?" he gestured over towards the lift.

"Er…" John eyed the lift, thinking about the answer briefly, "The alarms would go off and you'd be dragged away by security".

"Exactly," he nodded as Amelia took a sip from her coffee cup.

"Get taken to a small room somewhere and your head kicked in".

Amelia almost chocked on her mouthful, coughing slightly as she clamped a hand over her mouth as her eyes watered, trying hard not to burst out laughing as Sherlock gave John an exasperated look, apparently not at all amused by his little comment. Oh, the look on his face, it was simply too funny.

"Oh, I can practically hear the crunching of Sherlock's nose being broken right now," Amelia managed to get out, carefully using the edge of her finger to wipe under her eyes, trying not to smudge her eyeliner as she shot Sherlock a little smile.

Sherlock gave them both a dark look, "Do we really need so much colour?" he huffed.

"It passes the time," John said lightly, earning another little laugh from Amelia, who lightly toasted her own coffee cup against his.

Sherlock gave them another annoyed look, rolling his eyes as he shoved his cup towards John, who blinked slightly and took it. He reached into his pocket, pulling his phone out, "But if I do this…" he pressed the key card against his phone, glancing back to them, "If you press a key card against your phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip".

"And the card will be practically useless," Amelia nodded, taking another drink from her coffee before swallowing her mouthful, "That's why when you go to a hotel with key cards, which is pretty much all of them now days, you're warned about having your key card within the same pocket as your phone," she shrugged, glancing at Sherlock and John, "It's quite a common mistake to make".

"Exactly," Sherlock said, holding up the key card, "So what happens if I use the card now?" he looked mainly back to John, since Amelia seemed to have already figured it out, or at least partly.

"It still doesn't work," John gestured with one of the cups towards the card.

"Yes, but it won't register as being wrong, either," Amelia remarked, looking back over towards the lift doors, "The card with come up as being corrupted, so how will the computer system know if it's Magnussen or not?"

John frowned slightly, quickly casting a look back over his shoulder, "Huh?"

"Would they risk dragging _him_ off?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him.

"Probably not".

"So what are they going to have to do, John?" Amelia looked back to him with a patient smile, wanting him to try and understand, to figure it out at least partly on his own without just spoon feeding him the answers. What was the point of bringing John along with them unless they tried to explain to him what was going on or gave him a chance to figure it out? "What is the best way for them to find out who is trying to access the lift with a corrupted key card, without accidently dragging their boss off?" she couldn't help smirking at _that_ mental image.

John thought about it for a moment, before looking back to the detectives, "Check if it's him or not".

Sherlock nodded in confirmation to him and looked back across to the doors, "There's a camera at eye height to the right of the door," he explained, "A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen's personal staff in his office, the only people trusted to make a positive ID. At this hour, almost certainly his PA".

"So how's that help us?" John shook his head, looking at him in confusion.

Sherlock exchanged a quick look with Amelia, before he turned back to John, "I've been shopping," he said with a small smile, reaching up to lightly pat his breast pocket of his coat.

John simply looked at him in even more growing confusion, while Amelia gave him an almost apologetic, sheepish look before she moved to follow a few steps behind Sherlock as he set off towards the lift doors, John eyeing their backs with a suspicious look as he trailed behind them.

"Here we go, then," Sherlock commented as he reached the lift doors, pressing his corrupted key card against the reader next to the doors. He looked confidently up towards the small camera that was perfectly level with his eyes as the words written across the bottom of the screen reading CAM GLOBAL NEWS went from blue to red, giving a small beep.

"You realise you don't exactly look like Magnussen," John said softly as he and Amelia carefully stood off to the side of the lift, out of view of the camera.

"Thank God," Amelia muttered under her breath, and John shot her a quick look.

Sherlock simply continued to smile into the camera, though his eyes did briefly flicker across to Amelia. Suddenly, the beeping stopped and his smile widened.

"Sherlock, you complete loon!" Janine's voice came over the intercom, making John's eyes widen, "What are you doing?"

"Hang on, was that…?" John blinked; looking startled, "That…!" he moved to take a step forward, but Amelia quickly pushed him back with her arm, hushing him with a hiss.

"Hi, Janine," Sherlock grinned into the camera, acting as if John hadn't said a word. He pretended to check over his shoulder, lowering his voice secretively as he turned back to the camera, "Go on, let me in".

"I can't!" Janine exclaimed, sounding as if she was smiling despite herself, "You _know_ I can't. Don't be silly".

"Don't make me do it out here," he said softly, shifting slightly awkwardly on the spot, "Not…" he paused, glancing over his shoulder as a woman in a black dress walked passed them, waiting until she had gone before turning back to the camera, "…in front of everyone".

John frowned, looking completely confused as he quickly looked to Amelia, who hushed him again and held a finger up to her mouth, though her eyes were fixed on Sherlock, looking a little anxious.

"Do what in front of everyone?"

Sherlock ducked his head and breathed out deeply, while John gave a woman passing them a polite smile and nod. Amelia, however, was watching Sherlock closely as he slowly reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small red ring box, popping it open to reveal a diamond engagement ring inside as it held it up to the camera for Janine to see, giving the camera a lovesick, hopeful smile. John stared at the box, looking positively stunned and a little horrified as his head snapped around to Amelia, half-expecting her to be about to faint right now at the sight of her ex-boyfriend proposing to another woman so soon, except…Amelia didn't seem to be the slightest bit upset. In fact, she seemed to be more nervous than anything, her eyes flickering around quickly, as if she was expecting for security to come running at any moment. Slowly, a sickening realisation began to dawn on John, a realisation that he truly couldn't believe that Amelia would have ever have agreed to.

Janine's delighted laugh on the intercom broke John from his thoughts, just as the screen beside the door turned blue again and the lift doors slid open. Sherlock grinned and gave the camera a small nod, snapping the ring box closed as he turned back towards John and Amelia.

"Coming?" he raised his eyebrows at them, as if he hadn't just proposed to Janine, slipping the box back inside his pocket.

"That was Janine," John stared at him, stopping him as he went to step into the lift, looking caught between shock and horror, "You just _proposed_ …to Janine!" he quickly glanced at Amelia, once again to find her looking completely calm and unconcerned.

"Yep," Amelia said with a small shrug, absently dropping her coffee cup into a bin beside the lift doors before she lightly pushed passed him to step into the lift, "As it turns out, Janine's Magnussan's PA, which placed her in a wonderful position for us".

John looked at her open mouthed for a moment, before pointing at Sherlock, "Did you just get engaged to break into an office?"

"No, of course not," Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, moving to step into the lift beside Amelia, turning back around to face him, "I could hardly get engaged while already in a relationship," he nodded pointedly to Amelia, who smiled and wiggled her fingers in acknowledgment, only making poor John even more confused, "Besides, Amelia wouldn't exactly approve if I did," he shrugged, giving John a little smile, not seeming to notice the way that he was staring at him, "Stroke of luck, meeting Janine at your wedding, John. You can take some of the credit".

"J-Jesus!" he exclaimed weakly, unable to believe what he was hearing, still completely confused by exactly what was even going on. So Sherlock and Amelia were still together, was that what Sherlock had just said? But what about Janine? She thought…oh, this was horrible, Janine was going to be heartbroken by this! And Amelia, she didn't even seem to care! What was happening? He quickly dropped the two coffee cups in a bin beside the lift doors, before slipping into the lift with the detectives, "Sherlock," he hissed at him, leaning towards him, "Janine loves you".

Sherlock, however, simply scoffed as the lift doors closed before them, "No, she doesn't".

"What…?"

"It was a lie, John," Amelia told him, sighing as she closed her eyes, feeling horribly guiltily as she forced herself to look at him again. She hadn't wanted to do this, but she and Sherlock simply hadn't seen any other choice, "Sherlock and I made up the fact that we broke up, something I think you were suspicious about before now…" she paused, eyeing him for a moment as John frowned deeply, before she shook her head, "We staged several mock fights, made sure people were around to see it and then I went off to Ireland, while Sherlock stayed here and pretended to play the lovesick fool with Janine, while also pretending to relapse. Molly helped to fake the results, of course…" she paused, glancing at Sherlock with a gentle smile, "Though, she wasn't exactly supposed to slap Sherlock".

"You've been faking the whole time," John stared at them, looking close to lunging at them both, his shock quickly turning into anger, "Why is it that you two are always lying?" he exclaimed, glaring at them as he pointed at finger, almost hitting Sherlock in the chest as he rolled his eyes, "You could have told me the truth! You didn't have to act like you'd broken up, do you have any idea how worried and upset I was?"

"The less people who knew, the better," Sherlock replied with a shrug.

Amelia cringed, grabbing his arm, "Probably not the best thing to say, Holmes…"

John took a step towards them, almost panting with anger, "I'm you bloody best friend, you _should_ have told me!" he shouted, ignoring the hushing noise from Sherlock, "And what about Janine? You've been lying to her the entire time…"

"Not exactly," Amelia winced, biting her bottom lip as she edged closer to Sherlock's side. She glanced at Sherlock as he placed a hand on her lower back, taking a deep, bracing breath as she looked back to John's furious face, "Janine was in on it the whole time…"

"What?" he almost gaped at her, looking taken aback.

"We agreed to pay her, of course," Sherlock added, "Janine was more than happy to help us with the case, as I'm sure you can imagine, Magnussen is hardly the easiest boss, so she was quite happy to help us get into his office".

"Why pretend to be dating, then?"

"Well, we needed to protect Janine," Amelia answered, relaxing slightly now that John had stopped shouting and didn't look quite so…homicidal now, "We needed to make sure that Janine could come off as being the victim if things didn't go well, so we came up with the ploy of her pretending to be dating Sherlock, only for him to be using her to get into Magnussen's office, when really, Janine's been involved and completely aware the entire time".

John blinked slowly, looking between them as some of the anger began to fade, though he was still quite upset that they had lied to him, "So it was all...fake?" he asked slowly, frowning.

"Completely theatre," Sherlock nodded, not even looking at him as he watched the numbers of the small screen beside the door flash by as they passed floor by floor, nearing the top. He scoffed, glancing back to him and Amelia, "Honestly, you thought I would be interested in _Janine_?"

Amelia nudged his side with a sharp look, "Don't be rude, Holmes," she scolded him.

"So…you're still dating?" John gestured between the detectives. He had been very upset to hear that they might have broken up, so the thought that it might have been fake, while still hurtful and a little insulting, did make him feel quite relieved. He had always thought that they would make a good match and to actually see them together, to watch how they made each other better over the past seven months that they had been together, the softer side that Amelia brought out in Sherlock and the patients that Sherlock brought out in Amelia, had made him truly happy for his best friends. They worked well together, as a couple and as detectives.

Amelia gave him a small smile, glancing back to Sherlock, who meet her eyes and his expression softened, even growing close to tender, "Yeah," her smile widened, her cheeks even flushing slightly pink as she looked back to John. She looked almost like a lovesick school girl, in fact, much to John's surprise. Perhaps their relationship had progressed further then he had first thought…, "We're still together, better than ever, I'd say," she said happily.

The lift came to a sudden stop as it reached floor thirty two, the doors sliding open as Sherlock fixed his mock friendly, happy smile onto his face for the sake of any cameras that might be present within the office as he stepped out of the lift, Amelia and John right behind him as he rounded the corner and stepped into the doorway of a large, very modern looking room with large floor to ceiling windows and a glass desk with a computer sitting on it, but Janine wasn't sitting at the desk, in fact she wasn't anywhere to be seen, even. Sherlock and Amelia footsteps faulted as they exchanged a slightly worried look, moving further into the office, looking around.

"So where did she go?" John frowned, looking around, trying to find the woman. He glanced back to Amelia, "This wasn't part of the plan, was it?"

"No," Amelia shook her head, looking very concerned as she moved across to stand by Janine's empty desk, "She was supposed to keep playing the role, not disappear into thin air".

"It's a bit rude," Sherlock commented, looking slightly disgruntled as he came to a stop beside Amelia, "I just proposed to her," he glanced back to Amelia, "Wasn't she supposed to come running to hug me?"

"It wasn't exactly scripted, but that was the idea," she replied quietly, her frown deepening. This whole thing wasn't right; sure the three of them had discussed how to play out their whole fake dating idea, Amelia playing the role of the upset ex, Janine the oblivious, lovesick girlfriend, and Sherlock the affectionate boyfriend, but they hadn't completely gone off on a script. Most of it had been discussed before hand with a bit made up as they went along, but Janine just disappearing like this didn't make any sense. Something was wrong, very wrong.

"Sherlock, Amelia…" John suddenly called, moving quickly across to the corner of the office, making the detectives look across to see Janine lying partly hidden behind two chairs on the floor, seeming to be unconscious. He knelt beside her, checking her pulse.

"Did she pretend to faint?" Sherlock said in surprise as he and Amelia moved to join him, "Do they _really_ do that?"

Amelia crouched beside Janine, eyeing her worriedly, "I don't think she fainted, Holmes," she said softly, eyeing the woman closely. It made no sense for Janine to pretend to have fainted, let alone for her to continue to the act once they arrived in the room. No, there was something far more sinister going on here.

John lightly touched the back of Janine's head, pulling his fingers away to reveal little specks of blood on his fingers, "It's a blow to the head," he told them, bending down lower over Janine, tilting his head slightly to listen, "She's breathing. Janine?" he tried calling her, and Janine gave a soft little groan.

"Someone else must have beat us here," Amelia bit her lip nervously, quickly looking up to scan the room warily, "Looks like maybe someone else had a similar idea about breaking into Magnussen's office as we did, though with likely different reasons," she looked back down to Janine as John lightly tried tapping her cheek, trying to wake her, "She's going to be okay, isn't she?"

"I think so," he replied with a small sigh, "She might have a minor concussion, though. She'll need to get checked out".

Sherlock slowly wondered away from them, spotting a doorway just ahead of them. He moved closer and carefully peered around the corner into what seemed to be Magnussen's actual office, the room very large, absurdly so, with a very modern desk positioned at the opposite end of the room, the chair still sitting out from the desk as if someone had only just left it. His eyes fell on a man that was dressed in a black suit, lying in the middle of the floor, face down. Obviously he was one of Magnussen's security goons, just like one of the ones who had payed them a visit at Baker Street that morning.

"Another in here," he called back to John and Amelia, moving further into the room, scanning the large, mostly empty room for any sign of clues, but there was nothing. Amelia was right, someone had beaten them here and judging by the lack of any scuffle, they must surely be a professional or had taken them by surprise, more likely both. He slowly turned around on the spot, trying to take everything in, "Security," he added absently, busy searching for clues.

"Does he need help?" John asked, trying to crane his neck around the corner to get a look without leaving Janine's side. Amelia rose and moved to stand in the doorway of the office, casting her eyes quickly around the space before she moved closer towards the security man on the floor, eyeing him closely before making a slight face.

Sherlock turned back towards the seemingly unconscious man, too, his eyes zooming in onto a tiny tattoo of the number fourteen behind his left ear, right next to his earpiece, "Ex-con," he deduced, before turning his attention onto his right hand, which had four tiny tattooed black dots in a square on it, one tiny dot directly in the middle of the square, "White supremacist, by the tattoo, so who cares?" he shrugged carelessly, glancing back up to Amelia.

"I'd keep tending to Janine if I was you, John," Amelia looked back over to John, who shot her a small frown, apparently not overly pleased by the idea of leaving an injured man unchecked. She sighed heavily, his expression making her feel slightly guilty, "Oh, fine," she muttered, kneeling on the floor beside the man, reaching out to press her fingers against the man's wrist, "I'll make sure he's not dead, just as long as you stop looking at me like that," she shook her head as she looked back down to the man, pausing to feel his pulse, "He's just knocked out, John. I think it's just another minor concussion".

John continued to eye her for a moment longer, seeming a bit more satisfied before he turned his attention back onto Janine, "Janine, focus on my voice now," he said firmly, trying to rouse her, "Can you hear me?"

Sherlock turned away and looked around the office again, moving across to the glass desk. He bent down, trying to find any hidden compartments or draws, but there was nothing, not even a computer or any paperwork left out on the desk top. He edged closer to the desk chair and crouched beside it, reaching out to place his flat palm against the seat. It was still warm, thirty five degrees Celsius's, in fact, meaning that it had only recently been vacated. The position of the security guard was lying in meant that it couldn't have been him, he had been moving _towards_ the desk at the time that he was knocked out, more than likely trying to get to Magnussen in order to protect him from the attacker.

Amelia was watching him closely from beside the man on the floor, looking wary, "This all _just_ happened, didn't it?" she said to him as Sherlock rose, speaking softly. Her expression grew grim as he looked back over to her, "Whoever did this, they're still here, aren't they?"

Sherlock nodded to her, "And so's Magnussen," he whispered back to her, casting his eyes quickly around the room, "His seat's still warm. He should be at dinner but he's still in the building," he slowly looked upwards to the void above them, but on either side of the void he could see two rooms above them, Magnussen's city penthouse, "Upstairs!" he hissed loudly.

John left Janine's side and moved to stand in the doorway between the two offices, already pulling his phone out of his pocket, "We should call the police," he said in a hushed voice, looking down at his phone as he got ready to make the call.

"Good idea…" Amelia nodded, speaking lightly, rising from the floor, "Except for the fact that we're currently also breaking in and therefore technically criminals ourselves," she shrugged with a small, sarcastic smile as John paused, looking back up to her, realising that she made a good point, "John, if we call the police _we'll_ be the ones to get arrested and charged, and if whomever it is does manage to escape, which seems pretty likely given that they seem to be a professional, who do you think they'll blame for all of this?" she waved her hand around at Janine and the security man.

John sighed heavily and reluctantly conceded defeat, switching his phone off. Well, she made a fairly good point, whoever it was that managed to get up into Magnussen's office had to be a professional, Sherlock had already proven how near impossible it was to get up here, but whoever this person was, they had not only managed it, but they had also taken Janine and a trained bodyguard by surprise. If they were that good, then surely they would also have a way of getting out of here without being caught, too, no doubt leaving no evidence behind, either. Yes, he could definitely see himself, Sherlock, and Amelia ending up getting blamed.

"No, wait, shh!" Sherlock suddenly hissed at them, making Amelia blink slightly as John moved back over to Janine. He closed his eyes and held out his arms on either side of him, sniffing the air deeply, detecting a faint hint of something in the air, something very floral with notes of bergamot and lime. He frowned slightly, Versace No. 5? "Perfume," he determined, "Not Janine's…" his eyes snapped open, fixing on Amelia, "Amelia, this ought to be your expertises".

Amelia's eyebrows rose slightly as she carefully stepped over the top of the man on the floor and moved around the desk to him. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, smelling the faint traces of perfume lingering in the air, but it was challenging to try and get a good enough smell of it, the scent fading so quickly. The extra challenge was the fact that there was so many perfumes that it might be, her mind already listing off several possible ones before cancelling them out.

"It's not mine; I can tell you that," she said after a moment, sniffing deeply, "It's certainly familiar, though…" her eyes opened suddenly, recognition finally hitting her, "Claire-de-la-lune!" she gasped, pointing at Sherlock, "That's the perfume".

He frowned, narrowing his eyes as he looked away from her thoughtfully, "Why do I know it?" he wondered aloud, shaking his head, "You don't wear it…" he waved an absent hand towards Amelia, knowing well enough that she very rarely wore any other perfume but Vanille Exquise, occasionally a Chanel or Burberry if she was going out at night, but she had never worn Claire-de-la-lune.

John looked up from where he was still trying to wake Janine, having overheard their conversation, "Mary wears it," he remarked, frowning slightly.

"No, not Mary," he shook his head, looking back over to him before looking back to Amelia, meeting her eyes, "Somebody else".

"Oh…" Amelia breathed, her eyes widening as she remember who else they knew who wore that same scent, "Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, she was wearing it when she came to see us about her case," she nodded thoughtfully, "I remember because she smelt like she had almost drowned herself in it, she'd just reapplied it on her way to see us," she looked back to Sherlock, her expression growing slightly puzzled, "But I can't imagine her being capable of doing any of _this_ ," she looked around the room, shaking her head, finding it hard to imagine the well-dressed woman in her mid-sixties that they had meet almost a full four weeks ago being able to knockout two people and somehow gain entry into this office without being detected, even while armed.

Sherlock, however, didn't seem to be listening as he looked back up towards the upper levels of the penthouse before turning and starting to take off across to the side of the room for the glass and metal staircase, looking quite determined.

"Wait, Sherlock!" Amelia hissed, growing quite alarmed as she went to follow after him

"Stay here!" he said without pausing, already reaching the stairs and dashing up them, earning a growl of annoyance from Amelia from behind him.

"Fine," she huffed, skidding to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, glaring up the stairs to his retreating back, "I'll stay down here, help John, but you be careful, Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock didn't bother to reply, still dashing up the stairs, pausing every now and again to quickly look up to the landing that he could see through the glass railing, trying to make sure that he wasn't about to accidently run straight into the attacker. Amelia would be more useful downstairs with John right now and, besides, her staying downstairs placed her into a far safer position then him and right now, not knowing completely what he might be walking into, ensuring that both Amelia and John remained safe was a main priority for him. Once, it would have been solely and completely the case, but now…his friends safety was on par with his cases. He reached the top of the stairs and slowly began to move down the carpeted hallway of the penthouse, listening carefully as he heard the distant sound of Magnussen's voice drifting down the hallway from the room at the end of the hall, sounding quite panicked and almost tearful.

"What…what…what would your husband think, eh?" Magnussen was saying shakily to someone as Sherlock reached the partly open door, trying to peer through the gap, "He…your lovely husband, upright, honourable…" he frowned slightly as he spotted Magnussen on his knees within the room, his head ducked with his hands behind the back of his head, cowering as he gasped out "…so English. What…what would he say to you now?"

Sherlock carefully edged closer to the door, directing his attention from off Magnussen's cowering form onto the 5'4 figure standing before him, dressed completely in black with gloves, holding a gun with a silencer attached to it. The figure cocked the gun and aimed it directly at Magnussen's head, making the man whimper in terror.

"Nej!" he cried out in Danish, trembling as he tried flinching away from the gun, ducking his head even further, "Nej!" Sherlock quietly pushed the door open, lightly stepping further into the room, his eyes fixed on the back of the armed figure, "You're…you're doing this to protect him from the truth…" he continued tearfully to the figure, "But is this protection he would want?"

"Additionally, if you're going to commit murder," Sherlock began, staring at the figure, who stiffened at the sound of his voice, "You might consider changing your perfume…Lady Smallwood".

Magnussen breathed out shakily, lifting his head slightly to look back up to Sherlock, passed the figure, "Sorry…" he said slowly, his voice sounding a bit stronger now, "Who?" Sherlock glanced back to the figure, slightly confused by Magnussen's reaction, making him look back to the figure, too, just as the figure adjusted their grip on the gun, "That's…not…Lady Smallwood, Mr Holmes…" Magnuseen shook his head very slightly, looking back across to Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned at him, still feeling quite confused by what was going on, when the figure suddenly turned around and aimed their gun directly at his chest, but it wasn't the gun being pointed at him that made his mouth fall open in shock, his eyes widening, it was the fact that Mary Watson was staring back at him from beneath the black beanie that she wore, covering her short blonde hair, her expression blank of any emotion. He released a small gasp, his mind instantly flooded by memories of all of the deductions that he had made of her over the past several months since they had first meet. He had known all along that Mary was a liar, that she was keeping something hidden, both he and Amelia had seen it all along, but this…neither of them had imagined for a second that it would be something like this. Mary was a liar.

"Is John with you?" Mary asked him, her voice steady.

"He's, um…" he said weakly in shock, unable to stop staring at her.

"Is John here?" she repeated more firmly.

"He…he's downstairs".

She nodded, "And Amelia?"

He swallowed thickly, "Yes".

"So…" Magnussen said softly, looking between them, "What do you do now?" he settled on Mary, who glanced back over her shoulder to him, though the gun remained trained on Sherlock, "Kill us both?"

"Mary," Sherlock tried, some of the shock finally starting to fade, "Whatever he's got on you, let me and Amelia help," he shifted his weight, getting ready to step towards her.

"Oh, Sherlock," Mary sighed, closing her eyes briefly in exasperation, seeing what he was about to do, "If you take one more step, I swear I will kill you".

He smiled faintly, shaking his head, looking completely certain, "No, Mrs Watson," he said calmly, watching her as Mary blinked back at him, her mouth slipping open just slightly, "You won't".

He moved to take a step forward, when she fired the gun, hitting him directly in the middle of his lower chest, just above the button of his blazer. He blinked slowly, everything suddenly feeling quite unfocused as he slowly looked down at his chest, shock spreading through as blood began pouring out the bullet hole, staining his white shirt. He didn't even feel the pain of it, not yet, he was simply too stunned.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Mary told him, her voice a little tearful, seeming to be completely sincere, "Truly am".

He slowly looked back up to her, "Mary?" he breathed, his head starting to spin. Mary turned back towards Magnussen, aiming her gun at him as everything began to blur together around Sherlock and grow darker…

 _ **Ooh, I have been waiting ages to be able to write Sherlock getting shot and going into his Mind Palace, I've had lots of fun writing it for the next chapter. Amelia and Sherlock are still together, and Janine was in on it the whole time! I really wanted to try and find a slightly original way of doing it without changing the plot to much, hopefully it worked.**_

 _ **I hope that you've all had a good Christmas and New Years, I spent my New Years actually writing this and most of the next chapter, but I do apologise for how long it's taken me to get this chapter up. I've been rather busy with my Doctor Who story of late. Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	17. Chapter 17 His Last Vow, Part 3

_**His Last Vow, Part 3**_

Everything seemed to freeze around Sherlock, darkening around the edges as he automatically found himself slipping into his Mind Palace, alarms blaring within his own mind. Suddenly, he was running, running down a set of old, shabby stairs, paint flaking and the banisters chipped beneath his hands as he ran down them, his coat whirling behind him. Everything was crumbling; he could feel it, just like his own physical body was crumbling, his Mind Palace reflecting it. He reached the bottom of the stairs and ran across the decaying foyer to the first door, throwing it open…only to find himself back inside Magnussen's penthouse, staring straight ahead of himself with a bright spotlight shining down onto him, Mary frozen, half turned towards Magnussen. But he wasn't alone, Molly Hooper calmly walked around behind his back, dressed in her white lab coat.

"It's not like it is in the movies," Molly said cheerfully, actually smiling at him as she walked around him, "There's not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards," she continued to walk around him, when the scenery suddenly changed to a bright white monetary room, the entire room almost blinding it was so white. She lost her smile, looking more serious as she walked towards the middle of the room where a metal monetary table was set up, a body lying on top of it, covered by a white sheet, "The impact isn't spread over a wide area," she explained, looking back over to him from beside the table, "It's tightly focussed, so there's little or no energy transfer," she grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it back to reveal Sherlock's own body lying beneath it, his eyes closed and his face deathly pale, naked with a single bullet wound in his lower chest, "You stay still…and the bullet pushes through," she looked at his body, her expression grim, "You're almost certainly going to die, so we need to focus…"

She suddenly slapped him across the face and he gasped loudly, jerking awake on the table. He blinked and he was back in Magnussen's room.

"I said…" Molly appeared before him again, "Focus!" she slapped him, hard.

Sherlock stumbled backwards and reached out to catch himself against the edge of the metal mortuary table, his eyes widening as he found himself back inside the white room, staring down at his own dead body, the bullet hole glaring back up at him, stark against his pale skin. Molly was there, standing on the other side of the table, looking at him calmly from over the top of his body.

"It's all well and clever having a Mind Palace," she remarked lightly, looking at him seriously, "But you've only three seconds of consciousness left to use it. So, come on, what's going to kill you?"

He looked down towards the body on the table, "Blood loss," he answered at once, looking quickly back up to her.

"Exactly. So, it's all about one thing now…" Sherlock frowned vaguely, starting to sway on the spot as he braced himself against the table, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, "Forwards, or backwards?" he closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was back in Magnussen's penthouse, staring ahead of himself again with Molly walking towards him, Mary and Magnussen still frozen, "We need to decide which way you're going to fall".

"One hole, or two?" a male voice spoke from behind him.

"Sorry?" Sherlock frowned in confusion, looking over his shoulder to find Anderson standing behind him with a pair of white medical gloves on, his eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting for Sherlock's answer.

"Is the bullet still inside you, or is there an exit wound?" Molly asked him, making Sherlock turn back towards her, "It'll depend on the gun".

He looked away from her, bringing up every possible gun that he could think of, picturing their designs with information appearing beside each one. He focused on one of the designs of a pistol, zooming in onto it as a tag that labelled it as a 'Cat-0208,' "That one, I think," he narrowed his eyes, before shaking his head and zooming onto another pistol, but he quickly dismissed it and moved on to another one, eyeing it thoughtfully, "Or that one…"

"Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock," Mycroft's voice drifted through the air, and all the gun information disappeared and, instead, Sherlock blinked as he suddenly found himself standing in the middle of Mycroft's office at the Diogenes Club. He looked across the room to see his brother sitting behind his large desk, staring back at him with a mocking expression on his face, "It doesn't matter about the gun," he rolled his eyes, "Don't be stupid," he clasped his hands together on his desk and leaned forward as Sherlock began walking towards him, "You always were so stupid. Such a disappointment".

"I'm not stupid!" Sherlock said angrily, suddenly feeling like a eleven year old again, looking up at his big, mean brother who was always calling him 'stupid' or finding ways to make him feel less intelligent.

"Leave him alone, Mycroft," adult Amelia suddenly stood beside Sherlock, her hand resting on his shoulder as she glared angrily back at Mycroft, dressed in her favourite Louboutin heels, red lipstick, and a fitted red dress. She gently squeezed Sherlock's shoulder as she turned away from Mycroft, who rolled his eyes at her as she crouched in front of Sherlock, making them eye level as she gave him a comforting smile, keeping her hand on his shoulder, "Listen to me, Holmes, it's going to be okay, but you _need_ to focus," she said firmly, her eyes meeting his, "The gun isn't important…"

"Why not?" he demanded, confused.

"Think about the room," she urged him, "You scanned it when you first stepped inside, so you should be able to remember it perfectly. Tell me what you saw behind you when you…" she hesitated, a brief flicker of pain crossing her face before she composed herself, "…you were shot".

Sherlock frowned and slowly looked away from her, thinking about it as the alarm began blaring through his mind again. He started to turn away, when he found himself back inside Magnussen's room as an adult again, looking behind him to where a row of panelled mirrors were hanging on the wall directly behind him. He took a step closer to it as Amelia appeared beside him on his left with Mycroft on his right.

"If the bullet has passed through you, what would you have heard?" Mycroft asked him, his eyebrows raised and his hands in his trouser pockets.

"The mirror shattering," Sherlock replied, eyeing the mirror.

"Yes, however, you didn't hear it shatter, did you?" Amelia looked at him in the mirror, giving him a small, encouraging smile, "So if you didn't break the mirror, Holmes, what conclusion _must_ you come to?"

He turned back to face her, his eyes widening in realisation, "The bullet's still inside me".

She nodded, her smile growing tighter, "Exactly," she said softly, watching him closely, "Which is good news…for now".

He meet her eyes briefly as he began to move back into his original position, facing the still frozen Mary and Magnussen, still feeling Amelia's eyes on his back, even after she had disappeared with Mycroft. Even in his Mind Palace she was still patient with him, defending him, even from Mycroft.

Anderson stepped closer to Sherlock, eyeing him, "So, we need to take him down backwards," he remarked thoughtfully.

"I agree," Molly nodded, appearing directly in front of Sherlock, staring at him, "Sherlock…" he looked back to her, "You need to fall on your back".

"Right now, the bullet is the cork in the battle," Anderson said, walking around Sherlock, eyeing him with a concerned frown.

"The bullet itself is blocking most of the blood flow".

"But any pressure or impact on the entrance wound could dislodge it".

"Plus, on your back, gravity's working for us".

Sherlock blinked as the entire room surrounding him took on a blue hue.

"Fall now," Molly told him firmly.

His eyes began to slowly close as his body began to sway, his body half crumbling as he made himself topple backwards, using gravity to direct himself, everything seeming to be happening in slow motion, when…suddenly, he found himself back in the bright white morgue room, covering his ears as he grimaced painfully at the horrible siren blared throughout the room. He stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall of morgue cabinets.

"What the hell is that?" he cried frantically, trying to block out the deafening noise, looking around to try and locate the sound, "What's happening?"

The cabinet draw beside him began to slide open as he lowered his hands from his ears, looking at the draw in horror as it opened to reveal his partly uncovered body lying on the metal tray.

"You're going into shock," Molly said as she appeared on the other side of the tray, making his head snap up with a loud gasp, his eyes wide, "It's the next thing that's going to kill you".

"What do I do?" he asked urgently.

"Don't go into shock," Mycroft suddenly replaced Molly, rolling his eyes, "Obviously".

"Fantastic advice, Mycroft," Amelia appeared right beside Sherlock, her arms crossed across her chest, still dressed in the same bright red dress as before, "Honestly, such a supportive big brother you are," she said sarcastically before turning to Sherlock, her expression instantly softening as she reached out to touch his arm, "Holmes, you just need to find something to calm yourself down with, something you find soothing".

Mycroft cast his eyes around the room, not seeming to be overly impressed by what he saw, "Must be something in this ridiculous memory palace of yours that can calm you down," he commented, looking back across to Sherlock.

Amelia's expression grew firmer, tightening her grip on his arm, "Sherlock, you have to find it," she said forcefully, her words echoing through the room, " _Find it_!"

Sherlock snapped his eyes closed and he found himself back on the decaying, crumbling staircase again, running down the stairs, the sensation of Amelia's hand against his arm vanishing.

"The East Wind is coming, Sherlock!" Mycroft's voice echoed as he continued running, urging him to move faster, "It's coming to _get_ you".

Sherlock kept running, the last part of his brother's words ringing in his ears as he forced himself to keep moving down the staircase. He reached one of the landings and dashed across to the closed doorway, throwing it open, only to come face to face with Mary in her wedding dress, aiming the gun at him right before she fired it, shooting him once again, but before the bullet could hit him, Amelia was there to pull him out of the way, sending him off again down the stairs before she disappeared.

"Find it!" Amelia's voice drifted through the air, sounding distant, "Please, Sherlock, you've got to _find_ it!"

He didn't stop running, finding himself in a long hallway with wood panelling on the walls. He reached one of the doors and pulled it open, bright white light blinding him for a moment before it cleared and he was standing in the middle of another wood panelled hallway. Lying on the floor a short distance up from him was a beautiful Irish setter dog with brown fur, panting as it watched him, its tail wagging happily in greeting.

"Hello, Redbeard," Sherlock called, breaking into a smile at the sight of the dog, "Here, boy. Come on!" he bent his knees and pattered his hands against his legs, trying to call the dog over to him as it sat up, "Come to me," he grinned as Redbeard started trotting over to him, "It's okay. It's all right…" he felt like a child all over again, watching as Redbeard broke into a run towards him, unable to stop smiling in delight as the calming sensation that began washing over him, "Come on! It's me, come on!" he crouched on the floor, patting his legs encouragingly, "Come on! Good boy! Cleaver boy!" he stroked Redbeard's head as the dog finally reached him, wagging excitedly and licking his face, "Hello, Redbeard," he murmured, his expression saddening as he pattered him, "They're putting me down too, now. It's no fun, is it?" he felt himself starting to fall backwards onto the floor, feeling suddenly weak as he let out a breathless groan, "Redbeard…" he fell, landing on his back on the floor, trying to reach for Redbeard as he barked loudly, his fingers missing…

Suddenly, he was standing in Baker Street's living room, looking at Amelia as she sat on the sofa with her legs perched on top of the coffee table, her ankles crossed. She was wearing just a simple pair of jeans and a shirt, no expensive jewellery or makeup, her hair left down. She looked up suddenly from the Agatha Christie book that she had been reading, breaking into a smile at the sight of him, sitting the book aside on the armrest beside her.

"Come here, Holmes," she held out her hand towards him, raising an eyebrow when he didn't move, "Please?" she gave him a hopeful look. Slowly, he moved towards her, feeling the panicked tightness in his chest starting to sooth just at the mere sight of her. He took her hand and let her lightly pull him closer to her as he sat down, allowing her to guide him until he was lying down with his head sitting in her lap, her fingers lightly toying with his hair, "Feeling better?" she asked softly after a moment.

He closed his eyes at the sensation of her fingers lightly brushing his hair, enjoying it far more then he would ever admit to anyone, "Much, thank you," he said quietly.

She sighed heavily, her fingers still twisting a curl, "You've got to fight this, Sherlock," she told him, suddenly sounding so sad that he opened his eyes to looking upside down at her, "Please, fight this, for Amelia, for John. Be strong, for them".

"I'm trying, but…"

"Shh," she hushed him, gently pressing a finger against his lips, "Remember what you're fighting for, what you have to lose, and you'll get through this. Just keep fighting for them…"

Her voice grew more and more distant until Sherlock blinked and he was suddenly falling backwards again, just like he had been in the hallway, only this time, when he landed, Amelia wasn't there. He was lying on his back in Magnussen's penthouse, staring up at the ceiling blankly, an agonising sensation starting to spread through his chest from the bullet wound.

"Without the shock," Molly's voice drifted through the room, "You're going to feel the pain".

Once again he found himself lying on the floor of the hallway, convulsing in agonising pain, his teeth clenched as he desperately tried to keep the scream inside but he just couldn't, the awful sound ringing off the walls. He wished Amelia was with him, wished that he could just go back to that moment when it was just them in Baker Street's living room. In the real memory, Amelia had read her book to him while toying with his hair and he had been so content that he hadn't even bothered to make fun of the book, like he usually would have. Later that evening, he had played her song for her and she had laughed and smiled, before she had kissed him and told him that she wished every night could be like that. He knew that he sounded terribly sentimental, but he truly did have a great fondness for that night, he wasn't surprised it had been the memory his subconscious would choose to use to calm him.

Molly stood at the end of the hallway, looking at him sadly as he continued convulsing, "There's a hole ripped through you," she said over his screams, "Massive internal bleeding. You have to _control_ the _pain_ ".

He let out a strangled scream, panting as he fought with everything that he had left to pull himself from off the ground, grabbing the walls and doorframes as he stumbled out of the hallway, finding himself back inside the staircase. He gripped the banister as he ran down the stairs, forcing himself to keep going down and down, one hand grabbing at the agonising sensation in his chest as he gritted his teeth and kept going, Amelia's voice drifting through his head, urging him to keep going, to keep fighting for her and John. He reached the bottom of the stars and ran across to the nearest door, throwing it open as he ran into the room, the door slamming closed behind him as he fell back against the padded door, gasping desperately.

"Control!" he cried out, looking up towards the padded ceiling, his entire body shaking with pain, Amelia and John's faces filling his mind, "Control! Control…" his voice grew softer as he breathed heavily, finally managing to look around the room, realising that he had stumbled into some sort of prison cell with the walls covered in padded material. His eyes widened as he looked across the room to see a man curled up against the wall in a dirty straightjacket, a large metal collar around his neck, attached to a heavy chain. He stared at him, fury and hatred starting to replace pain, " _You_ ," he hissed out, knowing who it was without needing to see his face, taking a few steps towards him, "You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel _pain_?"

"You always feel it, Sherlock," James Moriarty said softly, lifting his head up to look back up to him, his face covered with dirt and grime, flushed red with anger as he glared back at Sherlock. Suddenly, he leaped up and charged him, forcing Sherlock to flatten himself against the door as the light above their heads flickered and swung, "But you don't have to fear it!" he shouted manically into Sherlock's face.

Sherlock cried out in pain, doubling over as it hit him again, sending him crumbling onto his knees on the hard floor, clutching at his chest before he slowly collapsed onto his side, releasing a breathless gasp as he withered in agony.

"Pain," Morarty loomed above him, his brown eyes, so like his sister's, staring into his own, "Heartbreak, loss…" Sherlock rolled onto his back, tears streaming down his face as he convulsed violently, "…death. It's all good," he said in a dark whisper, kneeling on the floor beside him as Sherlock groaned, "It's _all_ good…"

" _Sherlock?" Amelia's voice called suddenly, sounding distant and very far away, "Sherlock, are you…oh, my God!" she broke off with a horrified gasp._

Sherlock frowned and blinked slowly, looking up at the ceiling, tears still running down his face, certain he had just heard Amelia's voice, the real Amelia…

….

Amelia was on her knees beside Sherlock, her entire body starting to shake as she tried waking him as he laid unconsciousness in the middle of the floor on his back in what appeared to be Magnussen's bedroom, the man himself lying on the floor a short distance away. She had grown worried when she hadn't seen Sherlock after five minutes and had gone to try and look for him, only to find him lying on the floor, unconscious and unresponsive when she had tried slapping his cheeks.

"Sherlock?" she tried again, lightly tapping his cheeks, growing increasingly more panicked each time she did so without any sign of him waking. John entered the room and instantly moved to kneel on the other side of Sherlock, "Sherlock," she tried again, her voice growing more urgent as she went to grab his shoulder to try and shake him, "Are you…oh, my God!" she gasped in horror and froze, her eyes landing on the tiny blood stain that had seeped across the lower section of his white shirt, mostly obscured by his blazer.

John's head snapped up to her in alarm, hearing the change in her voice, "Amelia, what…?" he began worriedly.

She swallowed, hard, her face as pale as paper as she couldn't take her eyes off the tiny hole in Sherlock's chest, "I…" she chocked out, her entire mouth suddenly dry as shock began setting in, "I think he's been shot".

"What?" he exclaimed, and she silently pointed with a shaky finger to the hole. He followed her gesture and his eyes widened, quickly moving the fabric of his shirt away to try and get a better look, "Jesus," he breathed, quickly unbuttoning Sherlock's blazer and pushing the fabric aside, revealing more of the blood, "Sherlock!" he tried calling, moving to lean over Sherlock's face, "Oh, my God…"

Amelia frantically looked around, not having any clue as to what to try to even do, when she noticed Magnuessen starting to pick himself up from the floor, grabbing his glasses off the ground beside him, "Who did this to him?" she demanded sharply, not even realising that she had jumped onto her feet and stormed over to him before she had grabbed the front of his shirt, "Tell me who shot him?"

Magnuessen calmly looked up at her, not saying a word as she gave him a furious look before practically shoving him back onto the floor, turning around to see John had gotten his phone out of his pocket and had it pressed to his ear. Amelia moved back to Sherlock's side, collapsing onto her knees beside him as she looked down at him helplessly, not knowing what to do, how to try to help him as the true terror of what had happened to Sherlock started hitting her, the fact that he was lying in front of her with a bullet wound in his chest, possibly inches from death, hitting her with the force of a truck. He couldn't die, not Sherlock, he just couldn't. She couldn't lose him!

"Ambulance," John said hurriedly over the phone, looking quickly back down to Sherlock, "I need an ambulance; a man's been shot in the chest…"

….

 _Back in the padded cell, Sherlock continued to convulse on the floor, tears still running down his face as he shook with pain._

" _It's raining," Moriarty sung slowly as he stood beside him, looking down at him, "It's pouring. Sherlock is boring…" he crouched down beside Sherlock's head, looking down at him with a whickered grin._

…

The ambulance finally arrived after what felt like forever to Amelia, working quickly to stabilise Sherlock as best they could before placing him onto the stretcher, rushing him out of the building to the waiting ambulance below, its sirens wailing and lights flashing as Amelia and John ran alongside the wheeled stretcher as it was quickly moved towards the back of the ambulance. Amelia stumbled as she clutched onto Sherlock's limp, cold hand as she struggled to keep up, her legs feeling like jelly as she struggled to just keep moving, everything blurring together until all she could think about was Sherlock, making sure that he got to the hospital in time, that he was going to be okay.

"It's going to be alright, Amelia," John said quickly from right beside her, placing a hand on her back, half as support, half to urge her to keep moving.

Amelia barely even heard him, her heart hammering inside her chest as she clutched Sherlock's hand tighter until she was forced to let go as the two paramedics loaded the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

…

" _I'm laughing," Moriarty continued singing softly, looking down at Sherlock ,who stared blankly up at the ceiling above his head, "I'm crying…" his eyes began to grow heavy, slowly slipping closed, releasing a small breath, "…Sherlock is dying…"_

….

The ambulance raced through the streets of London, sirens and lights still going as Amelia sat in the passenger seat at the front, ignoring her seatbelt in favour of trying to look back over her seat to the back of the ambulance. She had insisted that John go in the back with Sherlock, she would be of little use to the ambulance officer working on Sherlock, but John…he had training, he was a doctor, he could actually _do_ something to help rather than just sit there, holding Sherlock's limp hand like she would have done. She watched the ambulance officer placing an oxygen mask over Sherlock's face before he quickly cut away his shirt, exposing his bare, bloody chest with the bullet wound still oozing blood, his eyes closed. She clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight, inhaling sharply in horror.

"Sherlock," John called clearly, sitting on a seat that was by the head of the bed, "We're losing you," he said more urgently, his face filled with panic, "Sherlock!"

"Please, Sherlock…" Amelia whispered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, "Please, just wake up, please…"

…

" _Come on, Sherlock," Moriarty leaned down into Sherlock's face, mere inches from him, dribbling slightly, "Just_ _die_ _, why don't you?" he dropped onto his side, moving his head right beside Sherlock's, "One little push, and off you pop," he turned slightly sideways onto his back, looking up towards the ceiling._

 _Sherlock's eyes were growing heavy again, simply looking up at the ceiling. It was almost like the moment between being awake and being a sleep, the same peaceful feeling that seemed to come with that sensation just before you slipped into the world of dreams. It was calling to him; he could feel it, closing in on him…_

….

John and Amelia stood beside each other as they watched from behind the glass of the operating theatre in the hospital, watching as doctors and nurses moved quickly around Sherlock's prone body as it laid on the operating table in the middle of the room, wires and tubes connecting him up to the medical equipment that surrounded the bed. Slowly, as they watched them working frantically to try and remove the bullet from within Sherlock's chest, Amelia reached out and took John's hand, squeezing it as they could only watch on in silence, their faces pale and full of fear.

And then…Sherlock's heart monitor began flat lining, sounding a terrible, high pitched beep throughout the room.

"No…" Amelia breathed weakly, pressing her hand against the glass, her eyes filling with tears, "Oh, God, please, no…"

John swallowed and pulled her close to him as she let out a heartbroken sob, his eyes fixed on the window as within the operating theatre as the doctors began manual compressions on Sherlock's chest, trying desperately to get him back. The screech of machine beeping continued, ringing in their ears as, after several minutes of trying, the doctors slowly stopped, exchanging looks as some of them hung their heads, seeming to come to the agreement that there was nothing more that could be done. Amelia sobbed harder then ever, gut-wrenching sobs, filled with heartbreak, shaking her entire body.

…

" _You're going to love being dead, Sherlock," Moriarty remarked, kneeling again beside Sherlock as he laid on the ground, his eyes closed, the noise of the machine flat lining drifting through the air. He looked down to Sherlock's still, pale face, "No one_ _ever_ _bothers you," his expression grew slightly manic, "Mrs Hudson will cry, mummy and daddy will cry…" he jumped onto his feet suddenly, spinning around and around on the spot, letting the chain around his neck twist around his body, "And the Woman will cry, and John and Amy will cry buckets and buckets. I don't think Amy will_ _ever_ _get over losing a second man she loves…" he began spinning in the opposite direction as he ran out of chain as Sherlock's eyes flickered beneath his lids, "It's her and John I worry about the most. That wife of John's!" he stopped and grimaced, blowing a noisy breath out of his mouth, "You're letting them down, Sherlock. John Watson and Amy are definitely in danger"._

 _Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he took a sharp gasp of air, suddenly remembering why he had fought so hard to get to this point in the first place, why he had struggled through all that pain. John and Amelia still needed him, and they didn't even know it yet, but he knew Amelia. She wouldn't give up until she found the person who killed him and once that happened, she'd eventually figure out it was Mary. He didn't know what Mary might do to her once that happened, possibly kill her or maybe try to reason with her, but he knew that Amelia wouldn't stop until she felt justice had been served for his death. He couldn't allow her to be placed in that situation, she'd get herself killed and then there was John, John who was married to Mary and expecting his first child with her, completely clueless about what was going on. He had to live, for them._

 _He jerked painfully and groaned, grimacing with the effort to try and pull himself off the floor, managing to get himself up enough to punch the floor beside him, the sound of the machine flat lining growing louder as he slammed the ground again, harder than before, trying to forcefully get his heart beating again._

 _Moriarty was watching him with an annoyed expression, kneeling on floor still, "Oh, you're not getting better, are you?" he frowned as Sherlock managed to climb onto his feet, stumbling backwards until his back hit the wall behind him, breathing heavily with the effort, "Was it something I said, huh?"_

 _Sherlock glared at him and pushed himself off the wall, grunting with pain as turned towards the door and pushed it open, "John!" he shouted frantically, running out the door, "Amelia!"_

" _SHERLOCK!" Moriarty's stricken scream sounded from behind him, but Sherlock ignored it, letting the door of the cell slam shut._

 _He kept moving, struggling with every single step that he took, grabbing the flaking wooden banister of the staircase as he reached the bottom of the stairs, using it to pull himself up the stairs, slamming his hand down with each step, gritting his teeth as he cried out in pain, but he couldn't stop, he needed to keep moving, needed to live._

…

Back in the hospital as Amelia sobbed into John's chest, gripping the back of his jacket in her hands, when a faint beep sounded from within the operating room. John stiffened and turned back towards the window as she lifted her head, certain they must have misheard the monitor, but there it was, one tiny little spike on the screen. The doctors and nurses looked up quickly, their eyes widening above their surgical masks.

"John?" Amelia breathed, roughly using her hand to try and wipe her tears away, staring back at the monitor screen.

"Unbelievable," John murmured, looking positively stunned as the doctors all moved back to Sherlock's side.

…

 _It was agonising, but Sherlock refused to give up, still fighting with every step that he took up the stairs. He slipped and almost completely fell as he managed to cross the first landing, moving up the next set of stairs, but he grabbed the banister and pounded his hand down on the stair below him, groaning loudly with his teeth bared as he used the banister to pull himself up, practically crawling his way up the stairs now. He forced himself to remember why he was doing this, who he was fighting for and as he did so, Amelia and John's faces flashed across his mind, memories of their time together flying rapidly through his mind, right from their first meeting._

 _He remembered how annoying he had once found Amelia, how John had been walking around with that old walking stick and had been so desperate to go into battle again without even realising it. Somehow, along the way, they had ended up becoming two of the most important people to him, the two people who he couldn't imagine life without, not now, and they were the ones that he was fighting to get back to, the people who he would literally come back from the dead just to be there with them. He would fight for them, always and he would keep them safe, from whomever it was that posed a threat to them, including Mary Watson._

….

John and Amelia watched on, hope flaring inside them as the heart monitor continued to slowly spike more and more, until it actually evened out to a steady, strong heartbeat that sounded more beautiful to Amelia's ears than anything else that she had heard before. Sherlock's heart was beating again, she didn't know how it was possible, quite frankly she didn't care, she was just so relieved to hear that steady beeping noise sounding through the room, when, much to her amazement, the doctors around Sherlock looked down at him as Sherlock's eyes slowly flickered open.

"Mary…" he whispered from around the breathing tube, somehow managing to say it before his eyes slipped closed again and he lost consciousness once more.

John and Amelia blinked and exchanged a stunned look, while the doctors and nurses quickly set back to work preparing to perform the surgery on Sherlock to remove the bullet from him. Even they seemed to be quite shocked by what had just happened.

"Did…did he just say…Mary?" John said quietly.

Amelia sniffed slightly, makeup smudged badly around her eyes and down her cheeks, "I think so," she nodded, looking back through the window to Sherlock, but she could barely even see him with so many people gathered around the bed. She didn't know to what to make of it, she felt like she had been on a rollercoaster of emotions, she still couldn't believe that Sherlock had been shot, let alone that he had technically just died, but his heart was beating steadily now and that was all that mattered, for now.

 _ **So this chapter is a little shorter than normal, I apologise for that, but I felt like it was a good point to end it to make the story flow more smoothly, hopefully. I really loved writing Sherlock's whole battle to survive in his Mind Palace, I had so much fun writing it and thinking up how I could incorporate Amelia into it, acting almost like his inner defender or voice of encouragement. I hope you guy's liked it, tell me what you think. Please review :)**_

 _ **Guest reviews:**_

 _ **Guest:**_ _ **Well, I certainly hope I lived up to your expectations and I'm so thrilled that you liked the little twist I did, I did try and add a few clues to suggest that all might not be as it seemed to be with the break up, like with Sherlock being amused by Amelia's remarks to Mycroft, her frankly pretty awful attempts to explain what happened to John, and Sherlock still helping to lift her suitcase into the back of the cab. Just…little details like that, I do so love to try and add easily overlooked things like that into my stories that give clues about the future away. Thank you so much for you review :)**_

 _ **Lia:**_ _ **Yeah, I really do feel sorry for how often John get's lied to and manipulated, in fact I've written something about Amelia's inner thoughts about that in the next chapter. Ah, well, like I said in the review above, Amelia's poor excuse for why they broke up was a clue that they hadn't broken up at all, I can't imagine Amelia breaking up with Sherlock over something like fighting a lot, bickering is like their form of flirting, as John's remarked on twice before, I believe.**_

 _ **Well, that was the thing, it wasn't just about the money for Janine, that was more like incentive, it was already stated within the episode that Magnussen had been abusive towards her, flicking her eye to see how long she could hold it open and the way that Janine within the episode spoke about Magnussen when she saw Sherlock in the hospital makes me think that she really, really hadn't liked him as a boss. Amelia and Sherlock, in this version of the episode, would have explained to Janine why they were doing all of this and, Janine said so herself in the episode that Sherlock could have trusted her, which I inferred as her basically saying that she would have willingly have helped him without him needing to manipulate her into helping him. So, I agree with you, I don't feel like Janine would have done it simply for the money, but to help out her friends and get a little bit of revenge over her abusive boss? I could see that working.**_

 _ **I very much hope you enjoyed the chapter and yes, I know! I'm so excited, Victorian Amelia and Sherlock, so much fun! Thanks for the review :)**_


	18. Chapter 18 His Last Vow, Part 4

_**His Last Vow, Part 4**_

It had been a little over a week since Sherlock had been shot and Amelia had only left his bedside when she had been made to by the nurses. She could have cared less if she had to sleep sitting upright in one of the hard, uncomfortable chairs by his bed, she would happily have done that because at least when she was in the room with him, able to touch his hand and watch his chest rise and fall while he slipped in and out of consciousness due to the strong painkillers they were pumping into him, she knew that he was okay, alive, and protected against his shooter. Not that she really expected the shooter to try to get him again, not while he was in the hospital, but you just never could be completely sure and after witnessing him flat line like he had on the operating table, she knew she couldn't go through that again. She was still waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat with those images rushing through her mind.

Amelia was beside his bed, reading a magazine that she had gotten from the downstairs shop on her way up, sunlight streaming in through the window, lighting up the entire private hospital room, Sherlock's bed positioned in the middle of the room with his drip and morphine pump on the left of his bed, connected into his arm. On one side of the room there was a table, several large vases of flowers sitting on it just beneath the window, one of them from Janine, who had actually dropped by the previous afternoon, though Sherlock had still been out of it at the time and so she had stayed to chat to Amelia for a few minutes before leaving, happily telling her all about the cottage she had bought in the Sussex Downs with the money she and Sherlock had given her for their little ploy. John and Mary visited once a day and Mycroft had dropped by once, the morning after Sherlock's shooting, though Amelia had missed seeing him, something she was pleased with because she hadn't been in the emotional state to be dealing with him. Molly had even come by a few days ago, though she hadn't stayed very long, just long enough to surprise Amelia with the news that she and Tom had been talking again.

She flipped the glossy page, though she wasn't really reading any of the fashion articles or latest celebrity gossip, she had lost interest in that sort of thing after the press had taken an interest in herself and the boy's, but she enjoyed the pictures. Her leg bobbed as she browsed through the pages, her black wedge sneaker lightly hitting the floor, her legs clad in black skinny jeans and her top a black and white peplum, sleeveless with a star-like pattern stitched into the fabric. Her necklace was bright red and consisted of numerous bright red beads, while her earrings were bright red studs that matched her lipstick. Her nails were painted black, eyeliner, and her hair was in a half-up, half-down style. Her white with black trim trench coat was hanging over the back of her chair and her clutch was sitting on Sherlock's beside table.

Amelia had just turned to another page when she noticed out of the corner of her eye Sherlock shift very slightly, making her look up in time to see his eyes flickering before they opened fully, squinting against the bright sunlight before settling onto her. She broke into a smile, closing the magazine and sitting it in her lap.

"Well, good afternoon," she said brightly, shifting herself that she was leaning closer to the bed.

He winced slightly, "Amelia," he muttered, his voice sounding quite sleepy.

She watched him, amused, "How are you feeling?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, "I imagine a little drugged," she nodded pointedly over to the morphine pump.

He blinked slowly and turned his head towards the drip, "Hmm, bad for brain work…"

"You don't need to worry about that right now," she said firmly as he looked back to her, "I'm taking care of everything, but it would help if you told me who shot you…?" she narrowed her eyes on him, but Sherlock simply released a small sigh before wincing. She frowned, watching him for a moment, "Why won't you just tell me? I know you know who did it, so why are you…protecting them?"

Sherlock didn't respond at first, picking up the small remote control that was sitting on his bedside table and hitting a button on it, making the bed rise a little bit more so that he could look at her without lying down, "It's nothing to concern you with, Amelia," he told her tiredly, dropping the remote onto his lap, not bothering to try and strain himself again by putting it back onto the bedside table.

"No, I won't _just_ leave it, Sherlock," she hissed, suddenly growing quite upset, struggling to keep her voice down because she really, really didn't wish to end up getting banned from visiting for shouting at him when she wasn't even supposed to be keeping him talking for long, "Someone shot you, for God's sake! And they're out there right now and, for whatever insane reason, you're protecting them. Why? Just tell me!"

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression completely blank, "It's better if you don't know," he replied seriously.

Amelia sat back against her seat, just trying to process this whole thing. The moment he had woken up she had tried to find out who had shot him, but he had completely refused every time she had tried, saying the same thing each time, usually before slipping back asleep, that it was better if neither she nor John knew, with very little difference in wording. He was protecting the person, she knew that for certain, but she just couldn't work out why he would do that.

"We know them, don't we?" she said after a long moment of silence had passed between them, swallowing the horrible feeling that even saying those words aloud did to her. She had been so focused on making sure that Sherlock would be okay that she hadn't allowed herself to start thinking properly about it because…she knew, deep down, that she wasn't going to like the answer. She just knew that once she scratched the surface of this she would never be able to not know and she was afraid of what she was going to find out. In truth, she thought that she already knew, but actually admitting it was something else.

Sherlock didn't even blink, "Amelia, you have the facts already," he said tiredly, sinking deeper into his pillow, apparently seeming to realise that she wasn't about to give up any time soon, tired of fighting with her, perhaps. He had been shot in the chest and almost died, he'd never give up so easily otherwise, she imagined.

She sat up straighter, slightly surprised that he didn't seem to be trying to get her stop now, though he was quite heavily drugged, so there was the possibility that he didn't even know what he was saying. A few days ago when John had been with her, Sherlock had gone off on a massive ramble about something to do with hamburgers and poodles, from the few words they had managed to make out while they had giggled so much that they had almost wet themselves. Today was actually the first time he had made sense and hadn't babbled complete nonsense.

"Professionally trained," she began quickly, her mind instantly coming up with all the facts and details that she had been compiling over the past week, everything she hadn't allowed herself to piece together, "Likely a woman, judging by the projection of the bullet, standing between 5'3 and 5'4, with a previous connection to Magnussen, but that's not important right now," she looked away from him as she continued, towards the window, "But the perfume we smelt…Claire-de-la-lune, Smallwood wears it but she's not capable of doing something like this, nor would you protect her, but…" she trailed off, swallowing hard as she clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, slowly looking back to Sherlock. This was it, there was no way to deny the facts, but she so wished that there was because admitting this was worse than she thought it would be, "Mary..." she breathed, closing her eyes in anguish, "It was Mary, everything points back to her when you rule out everyone else".

"You can't tell John".

Amelia's eyes snapped open, giving him a startled look, "Are you mad?" she stared at him, "John _needs_ to know about this, Holmes, he's married to her! For God's sake, Mary shot you, she betrayed all of us, how can you protect her?"

"Because she's John's wife," Sherlock said calmly, meeting her eyes, instantly making her close her mouth, "And she's being blackmailed by Magnussen".

"That still doesn't give her a pass for almost killing you! My God, I…I let her comfort me, she was my friend and then she went and did this".

"You're getting overemotional…"

"Yes, of course I am! I trusted her".

"Amelia, shut up and listen," Sherlock snapped suddenly, sounding so much like his old self from before he was shot that she actually blinked at him in shock, certainly not expecting him to be so lucid when under such strong medication, but then again, he was a drug addict, his tolerance was far higher than most, "I've got a plan," he went on, his tone growing softer now, "We're going to tell John, but he won't believe it unless he sees the facts for himself…"

"No, he wouldn't," Amelia nodded slowly, sighing heavily. She was still incredibly upset and angry, she couldn't believe that she hadn't seen it before, that she had allowed Mary to get close to her without seeing it, but the truth was…she had seen it, she just chose to ignore it because she knew that John loved her and that was all that had mattered to her at the time. Sherlock was right, however, she couldn't let her emotions run away with her right now, not when John was going to be the one who needed all the emotional support that they could give him once he found out the truth, her betrayed feelings would be nothing compared to his. She took a deep breath, looking back to him, pushing away her anger and betrayal for the time being to focus on what really mattered, which was John, everything else could be dealt with later, "You're plan," she eyed him closely, frowning slightly, "It wouldn't happen to involve you leaving this hospital room, would it?"

"It might, yes".

"I'm not going to approve of this, am I?" she sighed again, though she couldn't help smiling faintly because this was Sherlock, the Sherlock she…loved, even if it also drove her insane and quite often made her want to, well, shot him herself.

Sherlock gave her a small smirk before he tilted his head back against his pillow, closing his eyes as he steepled his fingertips together and brought them up to rest below his chin. Amelia gave him a long, wary look and shook her head, feeling like this was likely going to end up ending in a disaster, but once Sherlock had his mind up, bullet wound or not, he wasn't going to let anything stop him. The most she could do was try and do most of the work to try and minimise the damage he might cause to himself. She rose from her chair and moved to lean over him, pressing a light kiss to his lips before pulling back, giving him her own cheeky little smile when he cracked his eyes open to look at her with a mock annoyed look, his heart monitor giving him away as it beeped slightly faster.

"Oh, William," she shook her head, brushing a curl off his forehead, "You're lucky I find you cute, no one else would put up with your antics. Leaving a hospital a week after being shot in the chest?" she tutted, "You're going to end up making yourself even more sick".

"So stop me," he said with a hint of challenge.

"And risk giving your another cardiac arrest with my… _methods_?" she grinned, lightly patting his cheek before she straightened, grabbing her clutch purse off the bedside table, "Let's save that for a later date, until then…" she forced herself to grow more serious, "Tell me the plan and what you need me to do, before I come to my senses and decide to warn hospital security".

He scoffed at her and groaned slightly as he struggled to try and move into a more comfortable position, Amelia quickly moving to try and give a hand, "You wouldn't dare," he hissed out with a pained breathe, lightly blowing her hair around her face.

She paused, meeting his eyes with a sharp look, "Yes, I would," she told him sternly, "But…this is for John and he'd take the news better from both us. That's the only reason why I'm doing this, Holmes. Remember that," she carefully grabbed his pillow and adjust it under his neck, before looking at him sharply again as she straightened, "Now, the plan. Explain it".

…

It was later at night, just after nine when Amelia arrived back at Baker Street, quietly opening the door as she slipped inside. Her phone had almost blown up with phones calls and messages from John, Sherlock having escaped from the hospital and disappeared out of the window, though what John and the rest of them didn't know was that Sherlock hadn't disappeared out of the window, she'd helped him get out through a back door and made sure that he gotten safely into the back of a cab, staying with him for every step. There was no way in hell she would have allowed Sherlock to go off on his own with a bullet wound in his chest, she didn't approve of him even getting out of his hospital bed, not that her disapproval meant much when she was helping him to do it in the first place.

She made her way upstairs, preparing herself for what she knew was likely to come as she heard John's footsteps pacing across the length of the living room, when she reached the landing and moved across to push the living room door open. Just as she had deduced, John was in the middle of pacing, looking quite worried, while Mrs Hudson and Lestrade stood in the doorway of the kitchen. All three of them looked up as she entered, but she gave them a weak smile.

"Oh, hello," she said, pretending as if she didn't know what was going on, sitting her clutch down on the coffee table and starting to slip her coat off, "Sorry I'm late, I decided to do a bit of window shopping, something to distract myself from…everything," she sighed, not needing to pretend as if she was concerned about Sherlock.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" John demanded, staring at her as if she had lost her mind. She paused with one arm still in her coat, blinking at him in mock confusion, "I've been trying to reach you all evening!"

"My phone died…" she frowned, glancing around at the three of them, "Why, what happened?"

"Sherlock's escaped, dear," Mrs Hudson told her, giving her a comforting look.

Her eyes widened and she quickly looked back to John, feeling horribly guilty. Why was she _always_ lying to John? He was such a sweet, honest man, he didn't deserve to be lied to like she and Sherlock always seemed to be, but here she was, doing it again, "Oh, he didn't…" she breathed, closing her eyes in exasperation, "Bloody hell!"

"We've been looking all over for him," Lestrade told her, drawing her attention over to him, "You've got to have some clue where he might have gone," he eyed her, and for a brief moment she feared that he might know that she was lying. Lestrade had known her two years longer than John had and he wasn't a complete fool, he'd have to suspect that she might know something.

"Sherlock's a man of many secrets," she tried to sigh, shaking her head, "I doubt if he's probably told me half of them and I'm his girlfriend".

John began pacing again; frowning deeply and Amelia felt another stab of guilt as she watched him, shrugging her coat off fully to drape it on the sofa's armrest. She really did hate lying to people, but what she hated possibly just as much, if not more, was how easily she found it to do. Lying was second nature to her, she'd been doing it to conceal her brother since she was eighteen, pretty much none of her uni friends had known that she had changed her last name to her mother's maiden name, which was possibly why she had never truly felt like she had true, honest friendships until she had meet Lestrade and Molly, they had been the few people that she had actually told that her brother was a criminal, though she hadn't gone into any detail about him, Lestrade likely had gone on to do his own investigation, not even her first husband had known about it. And then she'd meet Sherlock and John, and the lies had continued until that day at that pool when they had found out the truth. They'd forgiven her for lying, for keeping her brother's true identity a secret back then, so if anyone could find a way to forgive Mary, it would be John, once he calmed down and processed everything, she knew he would find a way to forgive her.

"He _knew_ who shot him," John remarked as he stopped pacing, turning back around to face Amelia, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. He slowly pointed to his lower chest, looking thoughtful, "The bullet wound was here, so he was facing whoever it was".

Lestrade stepped out through the kitchen door, moving around John's armchair without even thinking about it, the chair having been returned to its proper place by the fireplace, though no one seemed to have actually noticed it yet, Amelia noted, "So why not tell us?" he asked aloud, frowning as John shook his head and blew out a long breath, "Because he's tracking them down himself…" he suggested.

"Or protecting them," he turned back towards them from the window. He looked at Amelia, eyeing her, "That's what you said, didn't you? The other day, you said you felt like he was trying to protect someone".

Amelia nodded slowly, forcing herself not to look at Lestrade, fearing that if she did, he would know that she was keeping something from them, "It does seem that way," she agreed, keeping her tone light, "If it was me, I would tell anyone and everyone who had shot me, but Sherlock's remained completely closed mouth about it, even in his drugged state. That says a lot".

"But protecting the shooter?" Lestrade frowned deeply, looking between John and Amelia, though his eyes lingered on Amelia longer then she would have liked, "Why?"

"Well, protecting someone, then," John shook his head, before narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, "But why would he care? He's Sherlock," he moved to sit down in his old armchair, not seeming to even think about it at first as he rested his arms on the armrests, "Who would he bother protecting?" he frowned suddenly and looked down at the chair, finally seeming to realise something was off as he lightly pattered the armrests, all the while Amelia watched him closely.

Lestrade sighed, glancing briefly at his watch before looking back up, "Call me if you hear anything," he told them, looking firmly between John and Amelia, drawing Amelia's attention back onto him. He pointed a finger at them both, but John still looked quite distracted by his chair, "Don't hold back on me, either of you. Call me, okay?" his gaze settled on Amelia, narrowing his eyes sharply.

Amelia inwardly winced as she meet his eyes; he knew that she wasn't being completely honest, that she knew something that she wasn't saying. It was very out of character for her not to be reachable, especially when one of her friends was in the hospital, and her little story about her phone's battery dying and window shopping for the past few hours wasn't exactly the best lie she had ever come up with, she didn't blame Lestrade for not believing her completely, but she didn't think he would call her out on it. One of the benefits of being friends for so long meant that he knew her well enough to know that she didn't do things without a good reason behind it. If he truly did believe that she knew something more about Sherlock, he would no doubt also realise that she must have a pretty good reason for it. She was really going to have to buy him a nice bottle of something after this whole mess.

"Of course," she assured him, giving him a small smile, "Go home and relax, we'll sort this out".

Lestrade nodded slowly, still eyeing her closely, though he did look a little more relieved, "Alright," he glanced back over to Mrs Hudson, who was still standing in the kitchen doorway before glancing at John, "Good night, then," he gave Amelia one last look before turning and heading towards the landing door.

"Oh…" Mrs Hudson muttered, hurrying forward and into the living room, watching Lestrade step through the door and onto the landing, "'Bye, then," she called after him as he disappeared down the stairs, her arms folded across her chest as she turned back around, looking worriedly at John, who was frowning, "John?" she said, making him look up to her. She gave him a weak smile, trying to cheer him up, "Need a cuppa".

"You don't have to do that, Mrs Hudson," Amelia said quickly as she began to head back into the kitchen. She gave her a grateful look, "Really, I should do that, why don't you sit down and…"

"Don't be silly, dear," she cut across her as she paused in the kitchen door, giving her a gentle look that only made Amelia feel even more guilty and horrible for lying, "You must be worried sick about Sherlock, but I'm sure he'll turn up soon. He always does," she turned back to the kitchen as Amelia sighed, feeling quite uncomfortable.

"Mrs Hudson…" John said suddenly, turning sideways in his chair to look back over the top of the chair to her. He cleared his throat, frowning, "Wh-why does Sherlock think that I'll be moving back in here?" he looked over to Amelia, but she avoided his gaze, pretending to be adjust her top.

"Oh, yes," she called from the kitchen, lifting the kettle up to fill it up, "He's put your chair back, hasn't he?"

John continued to eye Amelia, sitting back against his chair, "Huh," he commented, not looking away.

"That's nice!" Mrs Hudson said cheerfully, carrying the partly full kettle as she came to stand in the kitchen doorway, admiring the chair with a large smile, "Looks much better".

"It certainly does," Amelia agreed, completely sincere as she looked at the armchair. It looked right sitting there like that, she really had hated seeing that empty spot. She glanced at John's face, only to find that something sitting on the small table beside his chair had caught his eye, a small, ornate perfume bottle in the shape of a crescent moon. He stared at it, not blinking.

"John, what's wrong?" Mrs Hudson asked, looking very concerned as she noticed his expression, "Tell me. John?" she tried again when John didn't seem to hear her, still transfixed on the bottle.

Amelia watched John closely, knowing what was coming, knowing that it was almost time, "Mrs Hudson," she began, still not looking away from John, "Would you mind giving us a moment, please? I think…John's just worried about Sherlock," she finally looked away from John to give Mrs Hudson a small smile.

Mrs Hudson still looked quite concerned, but she nodded sympathetically, "Yes, of course," she glanced at John, who hardly seemed to have heard anything, still just staring at the bottle, "I'll just go and make the tea…" she turned and bustled back into the kitchen.

"John?" Amelia tried gently, taking a step towards his chair. John blinked suddenly and pulled his gaze off the bottle, looking up to her, but it was hard to know what he was thinking or feeling right now, his expression completely blank, "Are you okay?" she eyed him carefully.

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "You're in on it, aren't you?" he shook his head, still not opening his eyes, not giving her a chance to say anything before he continued, "Of course you bloody are, you're always involved when Sherlock does something like this…"

"Trust me, it's better that I am this time around," she sighed, looking grim, "I wasn't about to let him go wondering around London with a bullet wound in his chest, and you know him. There was nothing I could do to stop him".

"There never is, is there?" he scoffed, sounding almost bitter as he opened his eyes to give her a little glare. He braced himself on the armrests of his chair as he stood, "For God's sake, Amelia, the man needs to be in a hospital bed right now, not gallivanting around London, tracking down his own shooter!"

"I know, it's completely mental and I don't agree with his methods, but the fact is that it's the only way!"

"The only way for what?"

Amelia bite her lip and looked away from him, so tempted to just tell him that it was Mary, that Mary had been lying to him for all this time and had almost killed Sherlock, but she knew that she couldn't say that. John would never believe it, the only way that he would was if he saw it for himself. Just then, her phone gave a loud ding and spun on her heel, hurrying over to grab her coat that she had left draped over the couch, reaching for her phone inside the pocket.

"That's him, isn't it?" John huffed, looking quite annoyed and frustrated as Amelia fished her phone out, quickly checking the message, "You two seriously are unbelievable, are you ever _not_ lying?"

She finished reading the message, which simply said: Almost show time, SH. She locked her phone and slipped it back inside her coat pocket, "John, I'm sorry," she turned back to him, her expression sincere, while her heart began pounding in her chest. This was it, time for the truth to come out and poor John…his whole world was about to be sent toppling over, "Really, I am, and you're right to be angry," she took a deep breath, meeting his eyes firmly, "But right now I need you to come with me".

John stared at her in disbelief, "Just like that?"

"John, Sherlock left the hospital with a bullet wound in his chest for this, I let him do it and _helped_ him. You're right, I could have stopped him but I didn't, that should tell you just how important this is. Please, the only way you'll believe us is if you let us show it to you".

"I don't understand," he frowned, anger and frustration seemingly replaced by confusion and even a hint of concern. He shook his head at her, "Is this whole thing about Sherlock's shooter?"

"Mostly…but it's also about you".

He blinked, looking startled, "Me?"

Amelia looked at him pleadingly, practically feeling the clock ticking over her head right now, reminding her just how carefully timed she and Sherlock had timed this whole plan of theirs. If she was two minutes later then they had allowed for their timing, it would ruin everything.

"John…" she looked at him very seriously, her expression grave, "Please, just trust us. You _need_ to know and you _need_ to see it for yourself".

 _ **I know it's a little short; I ended up having to split this chapter off from the next one when it ended up creeping close to twenty thousand words, so expect a much larger chapter next time. So, Amelia knows the truth and she's actually going to help Sherlock with his plan, once again lying to John…I really do feel sorry for John, he seriously is being lied to all the time.**_

 _ **Next chapter, Christmas with the Holmes's, Amelia is highly suspicious of Sherlock, and John really shouldn't shout at Amelia in front of Sherlock…**_

 _ **As always, Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr. I hope you like it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_

 _ **Guest reviews:**_

 _ **LadyRedStar:**_ _ **Yes, poor Amelia, I do feel sorry for putting her through all of that and it's far from over, she's still in for quite an emotional upheaval. Well, thing's between Mary and Amelia are complicated, there's a great deal of anger there on Amelia's side, but beneath that anger is also an understanding, but you'll have to read the next chapter to see what I mean :)**_

 _ **Lia:**_ _ **Well, I had a lot of fun writing her little moments in Sherlock's Mind Palace, but I don't blame you for still loving Molly's scenes, Molly is by far one of my favourite characters of the show and I ship her and Sherlock. I remember being so excited to see her in Sherlock's Mind Palace, I mean, from a shippers point of view, that's got to mean something, right?**_

 _ **I was happy to clarify, thanks for the review :)**_


	19. Chapter 19 His Last Vow, Part 5

_**His Last Vow, Part 5**_

Leinster Gardens was a street lined with white, ornate style terraced houses that were built around the mid-Victorian period. The street was silent, the lampposts dotted down the length of the street lighting up the road and footpath, while the lights from the houses windows spilled out over the street from behind the residents closed curtains. The street felt almost like a homecoming to Amelia, who had lived most of her life within the same sort of terraced house in Belgravia; it was the type of street that practically screamed money, though most of these houses had been split into smaller apartments in the last few decades.

Amelia pulled her coat tighter around her middle, feeling quite grateful for the tight, narrow room that she found herself and Sherlock hiding themselves in, Sherlock providing quite a bit of warmth beside her…a little too much warmth, for her own comfort, despite the fact that she could feel him shaking very slightly as he leaned against her, though that could just be because he was in pain. Still, it made her wonder why she had even agreed to this mad plan of his in the first place, but it was too late to back out now, John was in place, pretending to be Sherlock with his hair ruffled and his coat collar popped up as he sat in the dark of one of the two fake houses that lined the street, the front of the house twenty three just a mock façade, while Amelia and Sherlock stood hidden in the dark of house twenty four in a small room that branched off from house twenty three. They had set up a small computer system within the small room, connected to cameras that they had set up through the street outside, the screens showing the street outside with Billy, disguised as a homeless person, standing waiting on the corner of the street for Mary to arrive.

"Are you okay?" Amelia asked Sherlock quietly, looking at his pale face in concern, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist. She didn't like the slight grey tone that his skin had taken on over the last few hours. It made her worry that it really was too much for him, that he was simply putting on a brave face to get through this whole thing, only to end up coming crumbling down later, worse than before. It made her feel sick to think that she might have helped to make him go downhill again, but it was too late now.

"I'm fine," Sherlock replied, talking a little too sharply for her to completely believe him.

"Holmes, if this whole thing becomes too much, you need to tell me," she told him firmly, reaching up with her free hand to lightly brush a piece of hair off his forehead…her eyes widened, feeling his clammy forehead. She remembered that from her first aid course, it was a sign of possible internal bleeding, "Sherlock…" she breathed, feeling a wave of terror wash over her.

"I said I'm fine," he snapped slightly, glaring at her as he battered her hand away from his forehead.

Amelia narrowed her eyes, feeling a spark of anger, "Clearly you're not," she said coolly.

He released a long, slow breath before wincing painfully, his hand flying up to his chest, right over his wound, "Perhaps," he muttered, looking as though he hated having to even admit it, "There's no time for that now, the plan's in motion".

"The bloody plan means nothing to me if it ends up seriously hurting you!" she hissed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, "Sherlock, of all the times that you need to be a drama queen…" she ignored his offended look, "…now is the time, so if you feel like you're going to faint or you can't stand the pain any longer, you _need_ to tell me".

Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation, "If it makes you feel better, then fine," he huffed, cracking his eyes open and meeting her own eyes, "Should I need anything, you'll be the first to know. Happy?"

She frowned, "Hardly," she eyed him closely, personally thinking that she would have a better chance of getting Mrs Hudson to stop cooking them breakfast every morning then Sherlock actually telling her how he truly felt, it just meant that she would have to keep a closer eye on him. The idea that he might have popped one of his stiches and might be bleeding internally was a terrifying possibility right now.

His expression softened very slightly, though he was still holding himself quite tightly, no doubt from the pain, "I'm sorry…for snapping".

Amelia sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to his overly warm cheek, "Holmes, I know I probably sound like a nag, but I'm just worried about you," she lightly used her thumb to wipe the lipstick mark away from his cheek, "As annoying as it might be, the idea of something happening to you…it terrifies me".

Sherlock looked as though he didn't quite know how to respond, staring back at her as though he had never seen her before, but Amelia thought she detected a hint of fondness in his eyes. Slowly, he began to lean towards her…when a small ding of a phone receiving a message sounded, breaking them from the moment. Amelia, feeling a spark of disappointment, quickly pulled her phone from her pocket to see that Billy had sent her a text to say that Marry had arrived. Sure enough, as she and Sherlock focused their attention onto the screen, they could see Mary standing on the corner, slipping a small earpiece into her ear as Billy, wrapped in a large coat and blanket, began to disappear down the next street.

"Show time," Sherlock remarked, almost sounding relieved as he winced, moving to reach into his pocket for his phone…but Amelia gently pushed his hand away and reached into his inner breast pocket of his blazer, pulling the device out, since it was a slightly painful angle for him to have to reach with his wound right now, "Thank you…nurse," he gave Amelia a small smirk as he took the phone from her.

Amelia gave him a slow smile, "Now, that's a thought for another time…" she winked, laughing slightly as Sherlock raised his eyebrows very slightly, looking almost amused as he activated his phone. He found Mary's phone number and hit it, putting it on speaker as it began dialling.

The phone barely gave a ring before Mary answered it, walking along the front of the row of houses as they watched from their monitor screens, "Where are you?" she asked over the phone, looking around the street.

"Can't you see me?" Sherlock shot back, Amelia staying quiet, not wishing Mary to know that she was there for their plan to work.

"Well, what am I looking for?"

"The lie, the lie of Leinster Gardens, hidden in plain sight. Hardly anyone notices. People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what I think you are, it'll take you less than a minute. Even Amelia caught it within forty seconds…" they watched Mary on the screen as she slowly walked further down the street, her frown visible even on their screens, "The houses, Mary. Look at the houses".

Mary, still walking along the street, looked around, trying to spot him, "How did you know I'd come here?"

"We knew you'd speak to the people no-one else would bother with," Sherlock replied, exchanging a brief look with Amelia. Anderson and his little band of friends, of course neither John nor Lestrade would have thought to ask them, but they really were the perfect people to ask.

Mary laughed slightly, still looking around, "I thought I was being clever".

"You're _always_ clever, Mary," he remarked, watching her on the screen, "I was relaying on that. Amelia and I planted the information for you to find".

On the screen, they watched as Mary fixed her attention on one of the houses, house number twenty three, specifically, "Ooh…" she breathed over the line, sounding quite impressed as she came to a stop outside the fake building.

"Thirty seconds".

"What am I looking at?" she questioned, frowning slightly as she ran her eyes over the front of number twenty three. Apparently, while she might have picked up on something being off, she hadn't quite figured out exactly what it was yet, which made Amelia feel slightly better, though she knew she was probably just being petty.

"No door knobs, no letter box…" Sherlock explained over the phone, shifting slightly so that more of his weight rested on Amelia, who shot him a worried look. He pretended not to notice, still speaking, "…painted windows. Twenty three and twenty four Leinster Gardens…" he paused, drawing in a small breath as a pained grimace flicked across his face, "The empty houses," he continued, all the while Amelia frowned at him in growing concern, "They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains. Only the front section of the house remains. Just a façade…" he breathed sharply again, his eyes flickering closed briefly, "Remind you of anyone, Mary? A _facade_ ".

At those final words, Amelia reached across and hit a button on the laptop keyboard. Outside, a projection of Mary's smiling face appeared on the front of number twenty three and four, taken from Mary's wedding day, looking positively delighted. Mary's eyes widened, startled as she quickly looked behind her, trying to see where the projection had come from.

"Sorry," Sherlock said over the phone, completely unapologetically as they watched her reaction from their screen, "I never could resist a touch of drama," slowly, Mary turned back to face the house, still looking quite tense, "Do come in. It's a little cramped".

Mary began to walk towards the partly open door of number twenty three, light from within spilling out onto the pavement, while Amelia sent John a quick text, telling him to get ready, "Do you own this place?" Mary asked curiously.

"Mmm, I won it in a card game with the Clarence House Cannibal. Nearly lost me my kidneys…" Amelia sighed softly, throwing him a quick look, "But fortunately I had a…" he paused again, inhaling with a small cringe of pain, earning another worried look from Amelia, "…straight flush. Quite a gambler, that woman," he finished lightly.

They watched as Mary neared the door and slowly pushed it open, stepping through into the narrow hallway. Amelia pressed another button on the computer and switched their view onto another camera, this one positioned directly within the narrow hallway that Mary stood in, staring down to the very end where, unbeknownst to her, John was sitting in the shadows, pretending to be Sherlock with a medical drip sitting beside him. There was no way for Mary to know that it wasn't really Sherlock, John's face completely obscured by the poor lighting, just his figure visible. She stared at the figure ahead of her, the lights above her head very bright, only making it all the more harder for her to see who it really was.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" she asked, taking a deep breath. She looked quite nervous, afraid, even.

"Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972," Sherlock told her, still speaking over the phone, "Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where, five years ago, you acquired her name and date of birth, and therefore her identity," Mary slowly began to walk down the hallway, staring at the figure at the very end of the hall, "That's why you don't have 'friends' from before that date…"

Amelia sighed and shook her head at herself, she couldn't believe that she had missed all the signs, that she had completely ignored them, but she had wanted so much for John to have found the love of his life and so, whenever she did notice anything off, she pushed it aside. It now explained why Mary had so few friends, all of which having known her for only the past five years, why she had no family to speak of, not even a distant cousin. Even Amelia was sure that she had a cousin or two left in France somewhere, if she truly looked hard enough.

"It's an old technique," he continued, giving a small shrug that made him grimace painfully, "Known to the kinds of people who can recognise a skip-code on sight…" he and Amelia exchanged a brief look, they had both agreed after that whole business with the bonfire just how odd it was that Mary had known what a skip-code was, but once again, they had pushed it aside, "…have extraordinarily retentive memories…" just like how Mary had remembered the room number of Sholto, despite the number of rooms that she had organised for all the other guests.

Mary came to a stop in the middle of the hallway, eyeing the darkened figure, "You were very slow," she remarked, looking almost disappointed, "Both you and Amelia".

"How good a shot _are_ you?"

She reached behind her, pushing her coat aside as she pulled a pistol out, cocking it threateningly as she held it at her side, "How badly do you want to find out?" she raised her eyebrows at the figure.

Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly and Amelia glanced at him, instantly feeling a rush of concern hit her again as she noticed just how clammy and pale he looked, even worse than before, and he seemed to be leaning most of his weight against her side now. He looked awful, as though he was barely keeping himself upright. She just wanted to get this over and done with, she didn't think he was going to be able to hold out for much longer, anyway, then hopefully she would be able to convince him that he needed to go back to hospital.

"If I die here, my body will be found with your face projected on the front of it," he pointed out to her, "Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that, never mind Amelia…" Mary nodded in agreement, still staring at the figure ahead of her, "I want to know how good you are," he lowered his voice slightly, trying to egg her on, "Go on. Show me. The doctor's wife must be a _little_ bit bored by now".

Mary adjusted her grip on her gun, considering it briefly before she reached into her handbag hanging over her shoulder, quickly fishing out a coin. She balanced it carefully on top of her thumb and forefinger, looking up towards the ceiling, just before she flicked the coin high into the air and aimed her gun at it, firing once. She turned her head away with practiced ease as the coin fell back down, landing on the floor a short distance away with a metallic ping. She didn't even move to pick it up, calmly looking back over to the obscured figure at the end of the hall, waiting for a reaction…behind her, unseen, Sherlock and Amelia opened the door of their hidden room and stepped out, walking towards Mary, Sherlock turning his phone off, still leaning against Amelia as they moved.

"Surprise," Amelia said in a sing-song voice, watching Mary's back closely.

Mary froze; her shoulders tensing as she slowly began to turn around to face them. Her eyes flickered quickly between them, realisation crossing her face as her eyes landed on Sherlock, "It's a dummy," she glanced back over towards the figure in the shadows, before shaking her head and reaching up to take the earpiece out of her ear, "I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick".

"May we see the coin?" Sherlock said, trying hard not to grimace, but Amelia could feel the way that he tensed up that he was in a great deal of pain. In the bright light of this section of the hallway, he looked even worse then she had first thought, his eyes rimmed with red, making him look even more haggard and a sweaty shin to his skin as he wobbled slightly on his own his own feet. Amelia doubted very much if he would be able to stay upright for much longer, even with her help supporting most of his weight.

Mary turned and started to walk towards them, lightly kicking the coin across the floor to them, eyeing them both. Amelia reached out and stopped the coin beneath her shoe, before giving Sherlock a quick glance, silently asking him if he would be okay for the brief moment that it would take her to have to bend down to pick up the coin. He met her eyes and nodded, reaching out to brace a hand against the wall beside him as she quickly bent down to pluck the coin off the floor, finding a perfect hole in the middle of the coin. She was wrapping her arm around his slim waist at once, holding the coin up for them all to see the hole.

"And yet," her commented, slightly breathless, even just from the small amount of effort that it had taken for him to brace himself against the wall, "Over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot," he glanced at the coin and back over to Mary, "Enough to hospitalise me, not enough to kill me. That wasn't a _miss_ ," he smiled faintly, "That was _surgery_ ".

Mary met his gaze briefly before looking away, completely avoiding looking in Amelia's direction, guilt crossing her face. Amelia watched her, sighing heavily.

"Mary, none of this should have happened," she said firmly, glancing worriedly at Sherlock and back to Mary, who had finally lifted her head to look at her, "If you had only come to us in the first place, had been honest with us, this whole case could have been solved already and Sherlock needn't have been hurt".

She blinked, looking confused, "What _case_?"

"Yours," Sherlock replied, his tone growing harder as he frowned, "Why didn't you come to us in the first place?"

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him," she answered at once, looking completely sincere, "It would break him and I would lose him forever, and I will never let that happen," she took a step closer to them, looking between them desperately, "Please…understand," she tried, "There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening".

"I believe you," Amelia said softly, her expression sad, "But you really should have been honest with us, Mary…I'm so sorry," her gaze shifted to rest on something over Mary's shoulder and she reached across to the light switch on the wall beside her, flickering it.

At the far end of the hallway, behind Mary, the lights come on. Mary's eyes widened, dread filling her face as she stared back at them, before slowly turning around to see John sitting in a wheelchair at the very end of the hallway, his hair ruffled and the collar of his coat sticking up, his expression completely blank of emotion. She gasped in horror and John slowly rose from the wheelchair, absently fixing his hair and collar.

"Now talk, and sort it out," Sherlock told them, "Do it quickly".

Amelia swallowed as John walked down the hallway, stoping a few feet from Mary, simply staring back at her with a completely blank expression on his face. There was no anger there, no shock, just…nothing, which was perhaps even worse than if he had shouted. This was going to be hell.

…..….. _ **Six Months Later**_ ….….

Amelia loved Christmas, it was by far her favourite holiday of the year, it always brought back happy memories of Christmas spent with her parents before her mother had died, dressing up in her best dress and eating far too many sweets until her stomach hurt. She could still remember waking up at the crack of dawn at the age of seven, running into her parents' bedroom and throwing herself onto their bed until they woke up, just so she could open her presents. James always seemed to be nicer around Christmas, too, most of her favourite memories of her brother came from around that time of the year, playing outside in the snow until they couldn't feel their faces anymore and sneaking leftover cake upstairs when the grownup's weren't looking, eventually the cake turning into alcohol as they got older. One year, when they were ten, they stole half the Christmas pudding and hid in Amelia's bedroom closest, eating it between them…of course, they ended up regretting it horribly when they both got sick from all the sugar and their mother found out, but it had been worth it just for the memory of it.

Being at the Holmes's country house for Christmas reminded Amelia of her childhood holiday's, she had been positively thrilled when Mrs Holmes had asked them to all come to stay for the holiday's, even inviting John and Mary, though the Holmes's didn't exactly know that John had moved back to Baker Street and only saw Mary when it was to do with the baby. Amelia had expected Sherlock to moan and complain about it, and that she would end up having to practically bribe him into agreeing, but he hadn't, in fact he had seemed quite happy about it, so much so that Amelia couldn't help being a little suspicious that he might be up to something, but it was Christmas, she didn't want to think about anything but spending time with the people she loved.

The cottage was quite small, painted red outside and with lots of little nooks and low ceilings throughout the inside of the cottage, but it was just so cosy and sweet, just the sort of place Amelia thought would be perfect for if she and Sherlock ever retired and decided to leave London…she blinked, her eyes widening slightly as she looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her dark red lipstick lightly resting against her bottom lip. Well, that thought had been a little unexpected, though she supposed it probably shouldn't have been, she and Sherlock had been together for over a year now and had been through a bit of an emotional rollercoaster with Sherlock recovering from being shot, but even still, neither of them had actually spoken about…the future.

Amelia wasn't expecting them to get married or anything, she had done that once before and she didn't care if it never happened again, but she couldn't help wondering where they might be in five years time, if they did manage to stay together and not end up killing one another. She loved him, even if she might not have said it yet, she did…so much, but that sort of thing when it came to Sherlock, it wasn't something that she was sure about how he would react. And then there was the main thought that had been weighing on her…did they want to have kids? She was thirty five years old, she'd been thirty six in a few months time, her biological clock was ticking down fast. If she wanted to have children, she would need to seriously start thinking about it, but it was also something she had never brought up to Sherlock, something she had no idea how to even talk about or how he might feel, she didn't even know if she did want kids or if it was just the biological urge.

"It's Christmas time," she muttered, looking back to her reflection, lowering her lipstick and popping the lid on it, "This is so not the time…" she slipped the lipstick inside her makeup bag and looked back up to the mirror, brown eyes rimmed with black eyeliner and brown eye shadow, "One thing at a time".

Getting through Christmas Day without fighting with Mycroft, would be a good start, for one.

She took a step back and looked at her outfit, it was always tradition for her to dress up for Christmas and this year was no different with a green, long sleeved silk blouse and dark red, pleated skirt that had a large bow at the front of it, and matching red heels with a crystal buckle. She had brought her ruby and diamond necklace with her, along with a pair of Christmas bell studs and, sitting on top of her head, was a red headband with a Santa hat sitting on top of it, her hair rolled into a bun at the base of her neck with loose hair curled around her face. She might be a little overdressed for a simple Christmas dinner with the Holmes's, but that was practically her motto.

She finished packing up the rest of her makeup and left the bathroom, smiling as she could hear Christmas music drifting up the stairs from below, humming to herself as she quickly dropped her bag off in the bedroom she was sharing with Sherlock, his old childhood room, as she was delighted to learn when they first arrived, before heading downstairs and through to the kitchen, finding Mrs Holmes in the middle of putting a pile of Christmas crackers into a large wicker basket on the kitchen table, a tray of freshly baked mince pie's sitting on the table a little further up and several potatoes sitting on the chopping board. Sherlock was reading the newspaper, sitting in a brown armchair by the fireplace, while Mycroft sat at the end of the table, looking terribly bored as he tilted his head back with his eyes closed.

The kitchen was quite cosy with pale blue walls and matching wooden cabinets running around the sides of the room with plates and bits and pieces littering the wooden counter tops. Christmas lights had been hung up all around the room, draped along the windowsills and over the walls, leaving no one in doubt of just how seriously Mr and Mrs Holmes took Christmas, since every room in the cottage seemed to have been decorated in much the same manner, including the bedrooms. But Amelia loved it, she thought that it was exactly how Christmas should be, while Sherlock had given her a rare, fond smile and remarked that she was such a sentimentalist. It was even more surprising given that he had done so in front of his parents and brother, but Amelia suspected it was probably just because he was in his childhood home again, somewhere close and familiar.

"Oh, Mrs Holmes, it smells delicious in here," Amelia said brightly as she stepped through the door, sniffing the warm, sweet smell of freshly baked mince pies, her heels clicking on the flagstone floors.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs Holmes looked up, giving her a broad smile, "Help yourself".

She smiled and happily plucked one of the pies off the tray, before moving to pull out one of the table's chairs, crossing her legs as she took a bite of pie. It was just as nice as she had expected, though maybe a little hot still and she tried very hard not to accidently drop crumbs all down her front.

"Nice for you to finally join us, Amelia," Sherlock commented, lowering the edge of his newspaper to look at her, his eyes flickering up and down her outfit, "Maybe I should have got you a dictionary for Christmas instead; you could have looked up what 'casual' means".

She flashed him a grin, "Oh, but then I would have missed out on the stunning first edition of 'Murder on the Orient Express' that you got me," she said with a mock saddened expression, before taking another bite of her pie.

"Sherlock, don't be rude," Mrs Holmes scolded, settling her hands on her hips as she frowned at her youngest son, "Amelia looks beautiful, you're supposed to compliment her".

"I thought I just did," Sherlock replied, not looking away from Amelia, a faint smile on his lips before he turned his attention back onto his newspaper.

Amelia swallowed her last mouthful of pie, "You're son has quite an odd way of complimenting people, Mrs Holmes," she said to her, but her tone was fond. Sherlock had gotten better at complimenting her when she wore something new over the past six months, but he would never do it in front of people, even his family, his little teasing remark practically was his subtle way of telling her that he had noticed and thought she looked nice, even if it probably wasn't most people's idea of a compliment. She took it as one, though, if he really hadn't thought she looked nice, he wouldn't have teased her for dressing up.

Mrs Holmes sighed, shaking her head at her youngest son's antics, "He always has been like that," she muttered, turning her attention back onto piling the Christmas crackers into the basket.

"Can I help with anything?" she asked hopefully, feeling quite guilty just sitting there, watching her.

"No, of course not," she said instantly, fixing her with a stern look that reminded Amelia of Sherlock, "You're a guest. Besides, I would hate for you to get anything on your clothing…"

"Amelia won't mind, mother," Sherlock cut in from behind his newspaper before Amelia could try to protest, "She's gotten worse than potato peelings on her clothes before".

Amelia gave Mrs Holmes a hopeful smile, "I really do want to help," she said sincerely, rising from her chair, absently smoothing her skirt down. She pushed her chair in beneath the table, trying to show that she really was serious, "At least let me peel the potatoes for you, I am Irish," she waved a hand towards the bowl of potatoes, "I might not be the greatest cook, but potatoes are a speciality of mine".

"Just let her help," he added again from behind his paper, a hint of fondness in his tone, "She won't stop until you let her".

Mrs Holmes gave her a small smile and reached over the table, picking the bowl up and passing it across to Amelia, who broke into a wider smile as she accepted it, "I know when I'm out numbered," she shook her head, giving Amelia one last smile before going back to the Christmas crackers.

Amelia grinned, feeling quite pleased with herself as she grabbed the peeler and set to work peeling the potatoes, feeling quite better now that she was actually doing something to try and help. It made her almost feel as though she was a part of the Holmes family, though she supposed that she was already treated like she was, Mrs Holmes had almost lifted her off the floor when she had climbed out of the car when they had first arrived, completely bypassing Sherlock to greet her first. Then, while they had been decorating the house, Mr and Mrs Holmes had insisted that she help decide where the decorations shoulder go where, even asking her where she thought the tree would best go. Sherlock had confined to her that his parents were just happy to finally have something close to a daughter-in-law to fuss over; Amelia couldn't help thinking he might be right about that. Still, it made her feel all warm and fuzzy to know that Sherlock's parents liked her.

"Oh, dear God," Mycroft suddenly groaned, lifting his head up long enough to check his wrist watch, before closing his eyes again in exasperation, "It's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas Day for at least a week now," he shook his head, looking almost physically pained as Amelia struggled to hold back a laugh at how dramatic he was being. Sherlock should be careful, otherwise his crown of Biggest Drama Queen in Britain was going to be stolen…, "How can it _only_ be two o'clock?" he cracked his eyes open, sighing, "I'm in agony".

"Have a couple of drinks, Mycroft," Amelia told him, sitting aside her most recently peeled potato and reaching for the next, "Maybe it'll relax you a little…" hopefully, because if this was going to be his attitude all day, she was going to end up overturning this entire bowl of peelings on his head…

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs Holmes said sternly, pointing to where a silver laptop was sitting on the table at her end, half-obscured by the chopping board that had a couple of whole potatoes and peelings littering it. Amelia struggled to hold back a giggle; she loved hearing Mycroft being called 'Mikey,' it made up for Mycroft's sour mood.

Mycroft looked over to the laptop and sat forward, resting his arm against the table, "On which depends the security of the free world, yes…" he gave her a sarcastic smile, "And you've got potatoes on it".

She gave him a frown, "Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important," she said in a light, scolding tone as she moved to pick up the basket of crackers. Amelia didn't even try to hide her smirk as she reached for another potato to peel; it really was such a mother thing to say, made all the more amusing that it was said to Mycroft.

Mycroft threw Amelia a quick look, noticing her expression, "Why are we doing this?" he turned back to his mother, gesturing around the kitchen, "We never do this," he clasped his hands together on the table, looking annoyed.

"We are here because Sherlock is home from the hospital and we are _all_ very happy".

"Am _I_ happy too?" he gave Mrs Holmes a very fake smile, which looked almost physically painful, "I haven't checked".

Amelia scoffed and, finishing with the last potato, moved over to the kitchen sink to wash her hands, "You're such a liar, Mycroft," she said over her shoulder, drawing his attention over to her, "You're just as happy to finally have Sherlock out of hospital as I am, so stop moaning and smile," she turned the tape off and grabbed a tea towel off the bench, drying her hands on it as she turned back around to face him. She gave him an overly bright smile, mainly just to annoy him, "It's Christmas, Mikey".

He narrowed his eyes on her, while from behind his newspaper, Sherlock made a suspicious coughing sound.

"Amelia's quite right," Mrs Holmes nodded approvingly, giving Amelia a small smile before picking up the basket of Christmas crackers. She looked back to Mycroft, fixing him with a stern look, "Behave, Mike".

"'Mycroft' is the name you gave me," Mycroft looked back up to his mother, giving her a mocking little smile, "If you could possibly struggle all the way to the end".

Amelia winced, slowly sitting the tea towel back down on the counter as she looked back and forth between Mycroft and Mrs Holmes, wondering whether or not she should try and make a hasty retreat now before having to stick around to witness a family argument…seeing Mycroft being scolded was one thing, but this was a bit more than a scolding. She was just starting to edge around the side of the kitchen table, when Billy Wiggins suddenly slipped into the room with a small glass of punch in his hand, a slice of orange and strawberry floating in the liquid.

"Mrs Holmes?" he held the glass out to her, breaking the tension of the room.

"Oh!" Mrs Holmes turned to take the glass with the hand not holding the basket of crackers, looking slightly surprised, "Thank you, dear," she placed the basket back down on the table, eyeing Billy curiously over the rim of her glass, "Not absolutely sure why you're here," she added, taking a sip from her glass.

"Amelia and I invited him," Sherlock called from his armchair as Amelia moved to stand beside the chair, resting her elbow against the top of it.

Amelia glanced down at his curly head and raised her eyebrows, she didn't exactly remember much of a conversation about it, just that Sherlock was planning to take Billy along with them and while she had found it a little odd, it was also a little sweet. Billy had been clean for the past six months, the only reason for why Amelia had agreed to let Billy still stick around Sherlock in the first place, and he was slowly starting to get his life back on track. She and Sherlock had even helped find him a cheap flat to live in and a job, and Billy didn't have any family to speak of, so why shouldn't he come spend Christmas with them? But the way that Sherlock made it sound…why did she feel like he was up to something?

"I'm his protégé, Mrs 'olmes," Billy informed Mrs Holmes, "When 'e dies, I get all his stuff, an' 'is job".

Mrs Holmes gave him a startled look and slowly lowered her glass, staring at him.

Amelia sighed, closing her eyes, "Maybe you should have given _Billy_ the dictionary for Christmas, Holmes," she muttered to Sherlock, before looked back over to Billy with a small smile, "Not quite what a protégé is, Billy".

"Oh…" Billy's expression fell, shifting slightly, "Well, I help out a bit".

"Closer," Sherlock commented, looking over a page in his paper, not even glancing up to him.

Mycroft and Mrs Holmes both turned back to Billy, and he looked at them, "If 'e _does_ get murdered or something…" he began, earning a horrified look from them and an exasperated one from Amelia.

"Probably stop talking now," Sherlock said lightly, still not looking up.

"Okay".

"It really is Christmas, isn't it?" Amelia remarked, sighing slightly as she lowered her hand to rest on Sherlock's shoulder, lightly rubbing his shoulder. Sherlock shifted slightly so that he was leaning into her hand, but his expression showed nothing of how he felt, even though he was obviously enjoying the sensation, his eyes still fixed on the newspaper.

Mycroft looked over to Sherlock, "Lovely when you bring your friends round," he said dryly, before his eyes flickered up to Amelia with a pointed look. In return, Amelia stuck her tongue out at him.

"Stop it, you," Mrs Holmes said sharply to Mycroft, sitting her glass of punch down and picking the basket of crackers back up, "Somebody's put a bullet in my boy…" she walked around the kitchen table, stopping just behind Mycroft's chair, "And if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous…"

Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a quick look, both wondering just how she would react if she knew that the person she was referring to was currently sitting in her own living room, currently heavily pregnant and getting up to pee seemingly every five minutes during the night…seriously, Sherlock had even kept a running commentary on it the night before until Amelia had tried to suffocate him with her pillow to shut him up.

Mrs Holmes suddenly caught sight of something sitting on the nearby kitchen counter, "Ah!" she moved across to the counter, picking up a tea cup, "This was for Mary. I'll be back in a minute," she turned and walked out of the room with the cup and basket in her hands, disappearing from sight.

Sherlock lowered the newspaper onto his lap and reached up to lightly cover Amelia's hand on his shoulder, stilling her rubbing motion. Amelia raised her eyebrows down at him, watching as he turned his wrist very slightly to check his watch before looking back up to her face.

"Shall we go outside?" he asked her quietly.

"What are you planning, Holmes?" she eyed him closely, her voice low, not wishing Mycroft to hear. She narrowed her eyes on him, "You're up to something, I just can't figure out what".

He gave her a small smile and let go of her hand, climbing onto his feet without answering as he slipped out of the kitchen. Still curious and more sure than ever that he was up to something, Amelia followed after him, through the main living room and into the small entrance way where Sherlock had already taken her black trench coat from off the coat pegs, holding it out to her to take before reaching for his own coat. They both started pulling them on, just as the door into the second reception room opened and Sherlock's father stepped out.

"Those two," he frowned slightly in concern, pointing back to the door. Neither Sherlock nor Amelia needed to ask who he was referring to, it could only be Mary and John, "They all right?"

"Well, you know…" Sherlock said softly, straightening his coat before slipping his hands inside his pockets, "They've had their ups and downs".

Amelia buttoned her coat up and tied it around her middle, it might not have snowed outside yet, but it was quite chilly, "They'll be okay," she assured Mr Holmes, who still looked quite concerned, "They just need to talk things through".

She gave him one last smile, Sherlock giving his father a brief nod before turning to open the front door, letting Amelia step outside into the garden before following her out. It had been six months since the truth about Mary had come out and John, for the most part, had barely had anything to do with her, aside from attending doctor's appointments for the baby and making sure that he was always reachable for her, but as far as their marriage had gone over the past few months…well, it could barely be called a marriage at this point, John had moved back into his old bedroom at Baker Street, Amelia now sharing a room with Sherlock, and all three of them had found themselves squeezed into the one flat, sharing the bathroom, which had possibly been the most challenging part of the whole thing for Amelia to get used to. But she knew that John was still in love with Mary, he just needed time to process everything and, hopefully, six months was enough time to do just that, but she had been truly afraid at first that even time might not be enough to fix their relationship.

… _ **Six Months Previously**_ ….

Amelia looked nervously at John's completely emotionless face and the back of Mary's head, neither couple having said a single word as they stood in the middle of the narrow hallway of Leinster Gardens. She swallowed, hating how closed off John looked, just wishing that he would say something, anything, right now because seeing him like this was worse than if he had broken down or shouted, she couldn't imagine how Mary must be feeling right now to have John just staring at her like that. Beside her, Sherlock slowly began to turn away, forcing Amelia to turn with him, still supporting him.

"Baker Street," he said quietly to John and Mary, a note of steel in his tone, " _Now_ ".

"You two need to talk things through," Amelia added over her shoulder, her expression firm, "And trust me, this isn't the sort of thing to discuss in a place like this".

She turned her back fully on the couple, feeling quite grateful for her lack of heels today as she helped Sherlock back up the rest of the hallway and out onto the dark street, Sherlock's breathing growing more and more laboured and pained now that they were out of earshot of Mary and John, letting his guard down slightly. She looked at his pale face worriedly in the light of the lampposts as they come to a stop on the edge of the footpath.

"Are you okay?"

He winced and closed his eyes briefly, "No," he admitted through gritted teeth, before he sucked in a sharp breath and opened his eyes to look at her, "But I can hold out a while longer".

She frowned, not at all liking the sound of that, but she didn't have time to try and argue with him that he really did need to go back to hospital, even just to get some pain relief, because John come storming out of the fake facade of house number twenty three, Mary following a moment later, looking close to tears.

The ride to Baker Street in the back of the cab was horrible and completely silent, no one dared speak or make a sound as they travelled through the streets of London, Amelia finding herself squeezed beside Sherlock, who kept his eyes closed for the entire ride, and Mary, who spent the journey staring out of the window, every now and then shooting the back of John's head a quick look as he sat in the front passenger seat. The journey seemed to take forever and it was a great relief to Amelia when the cab come to a stop outside Baker Street's front door, John practically throwing his door open and storming over to unlock the front door without a pause, leaving Amelia to quickly pay before hurrying around to Sherlock's side, wrapping an arm around his waist as he braced himself painfully against the side of the cab, his breathing sounding worse than ever.

The moment John had the door open; he marched in and began storming up the stairs, Mary trailing a few steps behind him, while Sherlock and Amelia followed at a slightly slower pace. With every step that they took, Amelia felt her concern grow as she almost half had to drag Sherlock up the stairs, his face now drained of what little colour it had left, leaving him looking half-dead as he reached out to clutch the banister beside him, trying to help pull himself up the stairs, probably sensing that Amelia was really starting to struggle. Up ahead of them, John reached the living room door and threw it open, disappearing inside.

"John," Mrs Hudson's voice called from within the room a moment later, sounding quite relieved, just before Mary stepped into the room, "Mary!"

They reached the door and stepped into the living room, finding that John had removed his jacket and was standing with his hands on his hips before the fireplace, refusing to even look at Mary, who hovered awkwardly just within the living room doorway. Mrs Hudson was in the kitchen door, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Sherlock leaning heavily against Amelia, who was trying very, very hard not to show how difficult she was finding it to keep him upright. She was going to need to seriously see her chiropractor after this.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson breathed, staring at him in shock, "Oh, good gracious, you look _terrible_!"

"Get me some morphine from your kitchen," Sherlock told her quickly, reaching out to half-brace himself against the wall beside him, perhaps realising that Amelia couldn't hold him up for much longer, "I've run out".

She gave him a startled look, "I don't have any morphine!"

"Then what _exactly_ is the point of you?" he snapped, suddenly angry.

Amelia sighed, giving Mrs Hudson an apologetic look as the older woman frowned at him, "Please, don't take anything he says to heart right now, Mrs Hudson," she said gently, throwing Sherlock a quick look as he closed his eyes briefly. She couldn't exactly scold him, not when she knew that he had to be in a great deal of pain right now.

"Oh, I never do, dear," she shook her head, giving Sherlock one last frown before looking around at the others, "What _is_ going on?"

"Bloody good question," John muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear, still refusing to look at Mary, glaring across at the spray painted smiley face on the wallpapered wall above the couch.

Sherlock looked across to John, eyeing him, "The Watsons are about to have a domestic, and fairly quickly, I hope, because we've got work to do," he explained to Mrs Hudson, his voice carefully controlled, trying hard not to let it shake at all.

Amelia shot him a worried look, personally just wanting to get this all over and done with so that Sherlock could get some medical attention and pain meds into his system, but she had a horrible feeling that this entire situation was going to take some time to resolve, time that Sherlock really didn't have right now. She just hoped that it was resolved within the next ten minutes, otherwise John and Mary might just have to deal with this on their own, something that couldn't possibly end well.

"Oh, I have a better question," John said, turning around and walking closer to Mary, who had moved to stand in front of the fireplace. He looked at her angrily, inhaling sharply as he seemed to be struggling to contain himself, "Is _everyone_ I've ever met a psychopath?"

Sherlock actually seemed to consider that, looking briefly thoughtful, "Yes…" he paused, glancing at Amelia as Mary nodded in agreement, "Well, aside from Amelia…"

Amelia squeezed his side, giving him a pointed look, "Probably better to just keep your mouth shut, Holmes," she advised him, throwing John a slightly nervous look, the poor man looking as though he was only just holding himself together right now. She took a deep breath, forcing her voice to remain calm as she said, "Look, there's obviously a lot of things that need to be spoken about right now, so let's…"

"SHUT UP!" John suddenly whirled around, making Mrs Hudson jump and quickly cover her mouth, while Amelia's eyes widened slightly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes on John, "Don't take this out on Amelia…" he began sharply, ignoring the small groan that Amelia gave beside him, really not needing him to defend her right now when John was already angry enough as it was. It was nice and everything, but this wasn't the time for him to be playing the boyfriend and standing up for her, it was only going to make things worse.

"And _you_!" John turned on him, pointing at Sherlock with an angry glare, "Stay shut up, Sherlock, because this is _not_ funny," he gave him a cold little smile that held no humour or warmth, "Not this time".

"I didn't say it was funny," Sherlock replied, very seriously.

John looked back over to Marry, "You," he turned to face her fully, breathing in short, sharp bursts, still struggling to control his anger, "What have I ever done…hmm?" he licked his lips, staring at her as he shook his head, "…my whole life…to deserve _you_?"

"Everything," Sherlock said quietly, moving to lean all of his weight against the wall beside him, rather than Amelia. She took a small step away from him, looking nervously between him and John.

He turned to face him at that, "Sherlock, I've told you…" he walked towards him, still struggling to keep his voice steady, "Shut up".

"Oh, I mean it, seriously. _Everything_ …everything you've ever done is what you did".

"Sherlock," he said dangerously, his voice very soft, "One more word and you will not need morphine".

Amelia stepped between them, glaring at John, "Yeah?" she gave him a cold look, her voice just as dangerous as his, "And you'll have to come through me first, Watson".

"Amelia…" Sherlock reached out and gently move her aside, giving her a look that she suspected was meant to be calming, but his haggard appearance failed to make it work. He took a shaky breath and looked back to John, "John, you were a doctor who went to war," he said as John refused to back down, his eyes still fixed on him, breathing heavily in anger, "You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high," he paused briefly, his voice cracking slightly, "That's me, by the way," he lifted his hand up, giving him a little wave, "Hello".

Amelia frowned, watching him closely, "Sherlock, are you…"

"And your second best friend," he cut across her, waving a hand towards Amelia, not looking away from John's angry gaze, "She's the twin sister of a terrorist who attempted to blow the three of us up and destroy my entire life…" he pointed over to Mrs Hudson before Amelia had a chance to cut in again, "Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel".

"It was my _husband's_ cartel," Mrs Hudson protested, shaking her head quickly, "I was just typing".

He gave her a pointed look, while Amelia raised her eyebrows, "And exotic dancing".

"Sherlock Holmes, if you've been YouTube-ing…"

" _John_ , you are addicted to a certain lifestyle," Sherlock said in a slightly louder voice, trying to drown Mrs Hudson out, looking back to John, "You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people…" his voice grew softer again as he continued, "So is it _truly_ such a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?"

John swallowed, hard, "But she wasn't supposed to _be_ like that," he said in a chocked voice, struggling to hold back tears as he pointed back over to Mary, not looking away from Sherlock. He took a breath as Mrs Hudson looked at Mary in shock, "Why is she like that?" he asked, his voice slightly stronger.

Amelia looked at him sadly, taking a step towards him and reaching out to touch his arm. He blinked rapidly and pulled his gaze off Sherlock to meet her eyes, "John, she is what you wanted," she said gently, squeezing his arm comfortingly through the sleeve of his jumper, "She is what you _needed_. You married her because she is exactly what you have always needed, even if you might never have realised it, she is…your match," she sighed, shaking her head, "You were never going to be happy with an ordinary relationship, because you're life isn't _ordinary_ , John, not one single person in your life is 'ordinary,' why do you think Sherlock and I work? We're the same, we have a certain lifestyle that no one else but us could understand, and that's why we work," she glanced back to Sherlock, finding him staring at her softly, before she turned back to John, "We chose each other out of everyone else and you _chose_ Mary".

John stared at her for a long moment, before he slowly turned away from both her and Sherlock, "Why is everything…" he said calmly, wondering over towards the dining table, "…always…MY FAULT!" he suddenly shouted, furiously kicking the small table beside Sherlock's chair, toppling it over with a loud clatter.

Amelia flinched and looked at him sadly, while even Sherlock gave a small jump and Mrs Hudson gasped in fright, throwing her hands in the air, but Mary didn't move, still watching John warily.

"Oh, the neighbours!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, scurrying out of the room through the kitchen door. John turned towards Mary, breathing heavily as he glared at her angrily.

"John, listen," Sherlock said in a low voice, "Be calm and answer me. What _is_ she?" he looked directly at Mary, speaking slowly.

John glared at her, "My lying wife?"

"John, try again," Amelia moved slightly closer to him, shaking her head firmly, "Tell us, what is she? Don't feel, just think".

"And the woman who's carrying my child, who has lied to me since the day I met her?"

"No," Sherlock said firmly as Mary looked back at John, "Not in this flat, not in this room. Right here, right now, what _is_ she?"

John smiled darkly again, not taking his gaze off Mary for a long moment before he sniffed and turned back towards Sherlock, "Okay," he nodded, and turned back to Mary, "Your way," he said over his shoulder to him, half-tuning towards him again, " _Always_ your way," he looked back to Mary as Amelia sighed and Sherlock grimly ducked his head. John cleared his throat and moved to grab one of the dining chairs, picking it up and placing it between the two armchairs, facing the fireplace. He looked back up to Mary as he straightened, "Sit".

"Why?" Mary asked softly, watching him.

He pointed down at the chair, looking furious, "Because that's where they sit," he told her in a tight, barely controlled angry whisper. He slowly straightened again, "…the people who come in here with their stories," he continued in the same forced tone, raising his voice slightly, "Th-the clients…that's _all_ you are now, Mary. You're a client," Mary visibly swallowed, shifting slightly uncomfortably, "This is where you sit and talk…" he gestured towards the armchairs, not taking his gaze off her, "And this is where we sit and listen, then we decide we want you or not".

He sniffed again and moved to sit down in his old armchair, clearing his throat as he reached behind him to adjust his pillow, ignoring Mary, who looked as though she was struggling to keep her own composer. Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a brief look before Amelia moved back over to him, wrapping her arm around his waist as he draped an arm over her shoulder, together moving across the room to Sherlock's usual chair. They met Mary's eyes briefly, Amelia giving her a small nod as she helped Sherlock sit down before taking a seat on the armrest of his chair, Sherlock's hand moving to rest on her knee as she crossed her legs. Mary glanced at John, who refused to even glance at her, before slowly moving to sit down on the dinning chair, dropping her handbag onto the floor beside her as she uncomfortably shifted in her seat.

Amelia looked at John briefly before taking a deep breath and looking across to Mary, "Whenever you're ready," she said, just as she would to any other client that had come to see them.

Mary meet her eyes and nodded, silently reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out a silver coloured pen drive. She reached over and placed it on the table beside John's chair. Amelia looked at it curiously, seeing that it had something written across the side in black pen, but the glare of the lights and the angle she was sitting in, it made it difficult to see.

Sherlock craned his neck, grimacing in pain to try and see for himself, "'A.G.R.A,'" he read aloud, slightly breathlessly as he looked back over to Mary, "What's that?"

"Er…"Mary hesitated, shooting John a quick glance before clearing her throat nervously, "My initials," John grimaced and looked back over to Sherlock and Amelia, "Everything about who I was is on there," she explained hurriedly, looking almost pleadingly at John, "If you love me, don't read it in front of me".

John frowned slightly, shrugging, "Why?"

"Because you won't love me when you've finished…" she replied, sounding as though she was struggling to hold back tears, holding his gaze, "And I don't want to see that happen," she shook her head, looking pained as she dropped her eye onto her lap, her hands clutched together tightly.

John glanced back over to Sherlock and Amelia, Amelia giving him an encouraging smile and he sighed, reaching out to grab the drive from off the table, shoving it away inside his trouser pocket. He shifted in his chair, straightening himself as he sniffed again. Mary looked across to Sherlock and Amelia, seemingly having regained her composer.

"How much d'you two know already?"

"Well, you're obviously professionally trained," Amelia began, eyeing her closely. She could tell by the way that Sherlock was breathing that he was struggling to even talk right now, and she expected that they had both come to the same deductions regarding Mary already, "I would imagine you were involved with an intelligence agency at one point, more than likely a foreign one, so while you may speak with a excellent English accent, I doubt very much if you were born and raised here".

Sherlock inhaled deeply beside her, nodding in agreement, "You're on the run from something," he remarked, and John shook his head in disbelief, "You've used your skills to disappear, Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him, and I assume you befriended Janine…" he paused, grimacing painfully, squeezing Amelia's knee tightly until the pain passed, "…in order to get close to him".

"Great minds thing alike," Mary gave them a faint smile, and they returned it, though Sherlock's was more like a cringe. She sighed, however, losing her smile as she glanced at John, "The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life".

"So you were just gonna kill him," John said simply, raising his eyebrows at her.

"People like Magnussen _should_ be killed. That's why there are people like me".

"Perfect," he said sarcastically, lifting his left hand and gently punching the arm of his chair. He stared back across to her, "So that's what you were? An assassin?" he shook his head, looking across to Sherlock and Amelia, "How could I _not_ see that?"

"You did see that," Mary told him calmly, making him look back to her. He gave her a cold smile as she went on, more softly, "And you married me," she paused, inclining her head over towards Amelia, "Because she's right," she turned back to him as Amelia sighed very slightly, "It's what you like".

John held her gaze for a long moment, while Amelia frowned and looked down at her lap, wishing that this whole mess had never happened. John, sweet and loyal, never deserved any of this, but she also found that she couldn't help feeling sorry for Mary, too. Yes, Mary was hardly innocent, but she couldn't help the fact that she and John had fallen for one another, that they had built a life together, only for her past to come crashing down upon her head during what ought to be the happiest time of her life. Amelia could sympathise with her, she knew what it was like to try and run from one's past, to keep secrets from loved one's and friends, she had been there and done it, she just hoped that John would find it in himself to forgive Mary, just like he had with her after everything had come out about her brother. If anyone could do it, it would be John Watson.

"So…Mary…" Sherlock began after a brief pause, grimacing again. He closed his eyes; gripping Amelia's knee to the point that it was almost painful, but she could tell that he was making an effort not to hurt her, he was simply in so much pain, pain that she could do nothing to try and ease for him. He opened his eyes again and released a slow breath, focusing on Mary, "Any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want…" he cringed in pain once more, his voice growing tight with a barely concealed groan, "…extracted and returned".

"Sherlock…" Amelia said worriedly, feeling him shaking against her side, his teeth gritted. He was getting worse, so much worse and there was nothing she could do, but they didn't have much longer, if only he could hold out for another few minutes…

He shook his head, opening his slightly watering eyes, "I'm fine," he managed to get out through clenched teeth, earning a frown from John and Mary. He nodded to Mary, looking as though he was struggling to even remain conscious, "You were saying….?"

Mary eyed him, "Why would you help me?" she asked.

"Because…you saved my life".

John blinked rapidly, "Sorry, what?" he stared at Sherlock as if he had lost his mind.

"Sherlock's right," Amelia said slowly, sighing slightly as she glanced at John, who almost gave her a double take, "Mary could have easily have killed him without batting an eye…but she didn't, she chose to shot him in the lower chest, away from his heart".

Sherlock looked directly at Mary, "When I happened on you and Magnussen…" he paused, breathing heavily for a moment as he braced one hand against his armchair and other against Amelia's knee, earning a worried look from the brunet, "You had a problem," he continued breathlessly, "More specifically, you had a witness. The solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave," he glanced over to John and then up to Amelia, "However, sentiment got the better of you," he turned back to Mary, "One precisely-calculated shot to incapacitate me in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate my silence," he tilted his head slightly, glancing over towards John, "Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen on the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect, so…" he took a sharp, pained breath, seeming to be having trouble speaking now, "You calculated…that Magnussen…would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police…as is his M.O," he looked passed Mary, as though picturing it all inside his head, "And then you left the way you came".

Mary's eyes flickered up to meet his, while John stared at Sherlock for a long moment, his expression grim before turning back towards his wife. Amelia, however, was watching Sherlock closely, she could practically feel how erratic his pulse was; see the pain written plainly across his features now, which wasn't a good sign. He had managed to keep a brave face for the past hour, but he was finally reaching his limit now, he must truly be in agony if he couldn't hide it anymore, and that was really scary.

Sherlock squinted his eyes at Mary, "Have I missed anything?"

"How did she save your life?" John questioned in confusion, looking back across to him. It was all well and good that Mary hadn't taken a kill shot when she easily might have, as both Sherlock and Amelia had pointed out, but she had still shot him in the chest.

"She phoned the ambulance," he informed him.

He frowned, shaking his head, " _I_ phoned the ambulance," he corrected, glancing at Amelia, "Amelia was there, she _saw_ me do it".

"She phoned first. You and Amelia didn't find me for another five minutes. Left to you two, I would have died…" Amelia shot him a sharp look, even though she did have to admit that he was right, but he hardly seemed to notice, "The average arrival time for a London ambulance is…"

He lifted his left arm up to check his watch, just as the sound of footsteps clattering on the stairs sounded, making them turn towards the landing door, just as two ambulance officers came rushing inside with their bags over their shoulders. Amelia could have wept in relief at the sight of them, while John and Mary blinked in surprise and puzzlement.

"Did somebody call an ambulance?" the first paramedic asked urgently, slightly out of breath from running up the stairs, John jumping onto his feet.

"…eight minutes," Sherlock finished checking his watch, breathing heavily as he dropped his hand back down onto Amelia's knee, almost slapping it. Amelia couldn't help feeling grateful for wearing jeans and the slight protection it provided her, giving him a worried look. He looked hopefully back across to the paramedics, "Did you bring the morphine? I told Amelia to tell you to bring it…"

"I'm quite sure they'll have something for the pain, Holmes," Amelia assured him gently, picking up his hand and removing it from her leg so that she could stand. She struggled against the urge to touch his hair, wanting to try and comfort him, but they usually didn't show such affection in front of others.

The first paramedic gave them a confused look, "We were told there was a shooting…" he said slowly, glancing over to John.

"There was, last week," Sherlock nodded dismissively, holding his left wrist in his right hand, checking his pulse point. He inhaled sharply, "But I believe I'm bleeding internally and my pulse is very erratic," he reached out to brace himself against the armrests of his chair, starting to rise, "You may need to re-start my _heart_ on the way!"

He jolted suddenly as he said 'heart' and his knees buckled, almost sending him crashing back down onto his chair. John and Amelia were there immediately, each grabbing him by his upper arm and trying to support him, Mary climbing onto her feet with a started gasp, moving aside as the paramedics rushed forward, sitting their bags on the floor.

"Oh, Sherlock," Amelia breathed, struggling to support him, "I should never have agreed with this whole mental plan of yours…" she muttered, shaking her head, feeling sick seeing him like this and knowing that she had played a role in it.

"Come on, Sherlock," John said bracingly, just as the paramedics moved to take over supporting Sherlock, Amelia forced to let go and step back beside Mary, "Come on, Sherlock…"

Sherlock grabbed John, clinging to his shoulder, ignoring the paramedics, "John?" he looked at him intently, sucking in a deep breath, "John, Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary, both you and Amelia. She saved my life".

John looked away from him, his eyes flickering over to Mary and Amelia, Amelia looking quite fearful as she clutched at the hem of her blouse nervously, while Mary caught his eyes briefly before looking away, "She shot you," he reminded Sherlock, his voice low.

"Er…" Sherlock nodded slowly, pulling a face, "Mixed messages, I grant you…" he suddenly grimaced and cried out in pain, starting to topple backwards, but John and the paramedics managed to catch him, gently lowering him onto the floor.

"Sherlock?" he said urgently, easing him down onto the ground, "Sherlock…" he looked at the paramedics as they hovered over Sherlock, reaching for their bags, "All right, take him," he straightened, still watching like a hawk as Sherlock gave another groan of pain, his face scrunched up.

"God, Sherlock…" Amelia covered her mouth, staring down at him, looking very pale and frightened as she watched them putting an oxygen marks over his mouth and nose, still whimpering in pain.

John swallowed, hard, at the sight of his best friend lying on the floor like that, before moving around the chair to Amelia, reaching out a supportive arm, but Amelia was too focused on watching everything that was going on with Sherlock to really notice. It was like seeing him shot all over again, being wheeled into the back of the ambulance the first time, when they almost lost him…it was just too much to see happening again, a mere week after the first time.

"He'll be okay," John muttered to Amelia, "He'll be alright…" he trailed off as Mary caught his eye again.

"He better be," Amelia said softly, watching the paramedics working on stabilising Sherlock, inwardly thinking that she would never forgive herself if he wasn't…

…. _ **Six Months Later**_ ….

Thankfully, Sherlock had recovered fully, though he had spent a few months in hospital and had required another surgery to stop the internal bleeding, but he had pulled through and was just as healthy, if not more so, then before he had been shot. Amelia couldn't help feeling very grateful as she breathed in the fresh country air, smelling like fresh grass and flowers as she and Sherlock slowly wondered down the long garden path out of the front of the Holmes's cottage, brushing against each other every now and again, but Sherlock wasn't exactly the hand holding type, which Amelia didn't mind. She knew that he could be quite…physical and affectionate when they were alone, she didn't need him to hold her hand or kiss her front of others, in fact she thought that she would probably be a little embarrassed if he did.

"So, Holmes…" she began after a while, coming to a stop just before the closed front gate of the small front yard. She turned and pulled herself up onto the stone fence that ran around the garden, her heels just lightly brushing the grass beneath her, "What are you up to exactly?" she raised her eyes at him as Sherlock looked at her innocently, "Oh, don't look at me like that, I know you're up to something, I just can't figure out what".

"Oh, yes, because reading the newspaper is _highly_ suspicious," he rolled his eyes, a very slight smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

She gave him a look, "Don't try to make out like I'm being paranoid," she pointed a manicured fingernail at him, "I'm not an idiot, I know you're up to something, sadly it could be anything from world domination to pranking Mycroft…" her eyes suddenly light up, "Ooh, I so want in if it's a prank on Mycroft".

"And if it was world domination…?" he trailed off, his eyebrows raised. He was actually joking with her, it really must be Christmas.

"I'd still help, I suppose," she mocked sighed, "But only because, as your girlfriend, I would be obligated to".

"You're commitment is heart warming".

She laughed; lightly kicking her legs, "In all seriousness, though," she said once her amusement had faded, eyeing him carefully, "What is this whole Christmas with your parents about, Sherlock? Just tell me, please? It's driving me up the wall. At first I thought it was for Mary and John, show them a happily married couple, your parents, that sort of thing, but I don't think that's the full story…"

Sherlock shrugged lightly and turned to lean against the stone wall beside her, giving her another annoying innocent look, "You're supposed to be a detective, Amelia".

"And you're sneakier then most criminals. Besides, it's Christmas, it's my day off".

"Not anymore," he told her, lowering his voice slightly as he turned towards her. She instantly stilled, looking at him intently, "I have...arranged a little get-to-together, something that will completely free Mary from ever being blackmailed again".

Amelia blinked slowly, staring at him in confusion, the only way that she could think of to make that happen would be if Magnussen agreed to destroy any evidence that he held against Mary, but that was never going to happen, so how exactly did Sherlock plan to make that miracle happen? She knew that she had all the pieces of the puzzle within reach, she could practically taste the answer on the tip of her tongue, but she just couldn't see the whole picture yet. What was about the plan that required it to happen on Christmas Day of all the days of the year? And why did Sherlock feel the need to organise it while they were supposed to be spending the day with his family? The only thing she could think of was…

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Mycroft's voice drifted casually down the garden path. Amelia pulled herself from her thoughts to see him walk towards them, now wearing his tweed blazer over his matching waistcoat and white shirt.

"Aren't you always?" Sherlock shot back, straightening and taking a step away from the garden wall.

"Play nice, boys," Amelia rolled her eyes, giving Sherlock a pointed look. He was probably just annoyed that Mycroft had managed to sneak up on them while Sherlock had her full attention, missing out on the chance to show off his brilliant plan.

Mycroft came to a stop beside Sherlock, reaching into his inner breast pocket of his blazer to pull out a small cigarette tin and a lighter. He popped the lid open and offered it to Sherlock, "Care for a traditional Christmas treat, brother?" he raised his eyebrows, before pausing, glancing at Amelia, "Unless Amelia has something to say about it…?"

She gave him a slightly sarcastic smile, "It is Christmas, Mycroft," she shrugged lightly. She didn't blame Sherlock for the occasional smoke, as long as he didn't take up the habit completely and begin reeking of smoke, she didn't mind if he smoked every now again. Drugs, on the other hand, were a completely different story.

"Amelia is my girlfriend, Mycroft," Sherlock said, taking one of the cigarette out of the tin, "Not my mother," he grabbed the lighter of his brother and slipped the cigarette between his lips, lighting the tip. He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply before releasing a plume of smoke, cracking his eyes open to glance at Mycroft, "Not that I would expect you to understand the concept of a girlfriend…" he muttered, looking off into the distance of the rolling hills of the countryside as he took another drag from his cigarette.

Mycroft, who had just lit his own smoke, gave him a tight smile, "Most amusing, little brother".

Amelia shook her head, looking between them, "Being around you two makes me wish I had given your mother a day spa trip along with the tea set".

"And this is why we smoke," Sherlock commented lightly, making her laugh. He was in a good mood, wasn't he? Amelia couldn't help enjoying it.

Silence lapsed over the three of them, Sherlock and Mycroft smoking and Amelia admiring the rose bushes growing along the other side of the garden, roses were her favourite flower, after all. It was nice, just sitting on the wall with Sherlock and Mycroft there, in fact, so far the whole holiday had been nice, getting away from London and seeing the countryside, but there was still that weight hanging over her head, reminding her that this probably wouldn't last, that Sherlock had something planned that would likely be a little mental and possibly dangerous.

"I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business," Mycroft said suddenly, looking at Sherlock.

"Are you?" Sherlock asked in mild surprise, glancing at him from a plume of smoke. Amelia looked at Mycroft curiously, too.

"I'm still curious, though," he admitted, eyeing his little brother, "He's hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you…hate him?"

He turned to face him properly, "Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets," he paused, frowning at Mycroft, "Why don't _you_?"

"That's a very good question," Amelia nodded, giving Mycroft a careful, searching look. Was it possible that Magnussen had something on him? Or was he simply completely apathetic about Magnuessen because it didn't interfere with his affairs? She didn't understand why Mycroft wouldn't care, surely had to understand what it was like to be singled out for being different, Amelia certainly had her fair share of that growing up and there was no doubt that Sherlock had, how could Mycroft not feel disgusted by Magnussen?

Mycroft simply shrugged carelessly, "He never causes too much damage to anyone important," he replied, and Amelia gave him a sharp look at the word 'important,' "He's far too intelligent for that. He's a business-man, that's all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil, not a dragon for you to slay, Sherlock," he gave his brother a pointed look and lifted his cigarette up to his lips.

Sherlock caught Amelia's eye as she struggled not to burst out laughing and broke into a smile, looking highly amused as he turned back towards his brother, "A dragon slayer," he repeated, raising his eyebrows as he moved to stand beside Mycroft, their backs to the cottage, "Is that what you think of me?"

"No," he smiled genuinely, glancing at his little brother, "It's what you think of yourself".

Amelia smirked slightly, looking at Sherlock's face as he took a long drag from his cigarette, before a though occurred to her that made her smirk fade, "I suppose that must make me the damsel in distress, then," she said in distaste, wrinkling her nose.

Sherlock lowered his cigarette from his lips and blew out a plume of smoke, "You _have_ been kidnapped three times," he reminded her.

"First of all…" she held up a finger, frowning, "One of those times was kind of planned. Secondly, before I meet you, I never got kidnapped on any of my past cases, Holmes".

"And that is supposed to help prove that you're not the damsel in distress…?" he raised his eyebrows, looking faintly amused as he lifted his smoke back up to his lips.

She narrowed her eyes, "I really don't like this analogy anymore…" she muttered, regretting even saying anything, she really had thought it through before opening her mouth.

Suddenly, the cottage door swung open behind them and Mrs Holmes appeared, her eyes landing straight away on the back of her son's. Amelia's eyes widened, throwing Sherlock and Mycroft a hurried look, but it was too late to say anything to warn them.

"Are you two smoking?" Mrs Holmes demanded at once, looking quite sternly at Sherlock and Mycroft. Instantly, Sherlock and Mycroft whirled around to face her, guilt written across their faces, frantically concealing their cigarettes behind their backs.

"No!" Mycroft answered innocently.

"It was Mycroft!" Sherlock said in unison.

Amelia desperately tried not to grin, finding it rather adorable to see Sherlock and Mycroft acting like a couple of guilty teenagers, she always did love to see a snippet of what they must have been like when they were growing up. She did have the very tempting urge to make matters worse for the two of them, what with Mrs Holmes eyeing Sherlock and Mycroft so suspiciously from the doorstep, but it _was_ Christmas…

"We were just talking, Mrs Holmes," she called up the garden path, giving her a reassuring smile, "There wasn't any smoking going on, Sherlock knows better than that," she couldn't help adding that last part, shooting Mycroft's back an evil smirk, knowing that she had just made Sherlock look good in his mother's eyes when she could have easily have included Mycroft, too. It was her Christmas; too, she might as well get a bit of fun out of it.

Mrs Holmes broke into a small smile, nodding to Amelia, "Well, I'm glad I can count on you, Amelia, to keep my boys in check," she said, earning a small noise of annoyance from Mycroft's direction. She turned and headed back inside the cottage, closing the door behind her.

The moment the door was closed, Sherlock blew out a long cloud of smoke towards the door, while Mycroft threw Amelia a look over his shoulder, which she simply returned with an innocent smile and a shrug. She caught Sherlock's eye as he began to step back over to her and he gave her a faint smile, a hint of fondness in his expression.

"Thank you," he said quietly, turning his back on Mycroft as he reached out to rest a hand on the stone wall, almost touching her own hand.

"My pleasure, _William_ ," she said just as softly, winking at him. She shifted her hand very slightly so that their hands were touching, just a little bit. It was such a simple gesture of affectation, but yet somehow so very intimate.

Mycroft began to slowly wander away, casually strolling closer towards the cottage door, when he paused, "Before I leave you two to your own devices," he began, turning back around toward them, "I have a job offer I should like you to decline, Sherlock".

Sherlock looked back to him over his shoulder, frowning slightly in puzzlement, "I decline your kind offer".

He gave him a small, mocking little bow, "I shall pass on your regrets".

"Hang on," Amelia eyed him curiously, "What job are we talking about here?"

"MI6," Mycroft told them, looking directly at Sherlock, "They want to place you back in Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in…" he paused briefly, considering it, "I think, about six months".

Amelia cringed, casting Sherlock a quick look, "Yeah, you're so not going on that little job," she said firmly, she didn't think she could handle having to say goodbye to Sherlock again, not after she only felt like she had just got him back from almost dying. She couldn't handle the idea of losing someone else she loved, not like the first time around with her first husband.

Sherlock, however, lowered his cigarette from his lips and turned back around to face Mycroft, looking surprised, "Why don't you want me to take it?" he asked him, seeming genuinely confused, Amelia shook her head at him, he seriously didn't understand how much Mycroft loved him, did he?

"It's tempting…" Mycroft remarked lightly, "But on balance, you have more utility closer to home".

"Utility," he laughed softly; scoffing slightly, "How do _I_ have utility?" he lifted his cigarette back up his lips, looking away from him.

Mycroft shrugged very slightly, "'Here be dragons,'" he said, and Sherlock frown faintly. He raised his cigarette up to his mouth and took a drag from it, before lowering it again with a distasteful expression crossing his face. He coughed slightly, "This isn't agreeing with me," he told them, "I'm going in," he dropped the cigarette onto the path and stepped on it, before turning to head back towards the cottage door.

"You need low tar," Sherlock called after him, moving back over to Amelia, "You still smoke like a beginner".

Mycroft walked a few steps before he stopped suddenly, his back still to them, "Also, your loss would break my heart," he admitted.

Sherlock, having just taken another drag from his cigarette, chocked and began coughing, smoke spewing out of his mouth as Amelia, smiling happily, leaned over to pat him on the back. He gave her a grateful look as his coughing subsided and looked back over towards Mycroft, who still hadn't turned around.

"What the _hell_ am I supposed to say to that?" he exclaimed, his eyes watering.

Mycroft turned around to face him and Amelia, giving him a little smile and holding out his hands on either side of him in a shrug, "'Merry Christmas?'" he suggested calmly.

"You _hate_ Christmas".

"Yes," he agreed, pretending to think about it for a moment, before smiling faintly again, "Perhaps there was something in the punch".

Amelia blinked and looked quickly at Sherlock, remembering something he had heard him say just before he had gone down to the kitchen, though she hadn't payed it much attention, having been concentrating on not poking herself in the eye as she applied her eyeliner. What had he said again? Oh, yes, not to drink the punch…she couldn't believe she hadn't thought about it, he had simply said it so casually and randomly before leaving the bathroom, and to be perfectly honest, Sherlock did sometimes like to say funny things like that just to try and distract her while she was concentrating on her makeup, he found it amusing because he knew how annoying she found it.

"Clearly," Sherlock said, eyeing his brother, "Go and have some more," he nodded towards the cottage door.

Mycroft gave him another little smile and began to turn away, when he paused, looking back over to them, but this time his eyes came to rest on Amelia, "One more thing, while we're sharing…" he actually gave her a smile that could almost be described as being fond, which was positively shocking for Amelia to have directed towards her from Mycroft of all people, "Amelia, welcome to the family".

Amelia stared at him, quite shocked that he had actually just said that to her, while Sherlock cleared his throat and dropped his cigarette onto the path, stepping on it. Thankfully, the shock quickly began to wear off and she broke into a large smile, feeling quite touched.

"Thank you, Mycroft," she said sincerely. She and Mycroft always had had a complex relationship, most of the time it almost seemed as though they hated one another, but Amelia did have a certain fondness for Mycroft. She might not agree with him most of the time, but they did have something in common: they both loved Sherlock, and sometimes a common interest was all that two people needed to build some form of a alliance, if not a friendship.

Mycroft nodded to her before turning and heading inside the cottage. Once the door had closed behind him, Sherlock turned back to Amelia, offering her his hand to help her down from the stone wall, which she accepted.

"God, Sherlock," she shook her head, straightening her coat, throwing the cottage door a quick look, "I think Mycroft just gave us his blessing…"

"Yes," Sherlock said thoughtfully, casting the door a quick look himself, "Perhaps the dosage was a little high for him, he always has had a certain fondness for my mother's Christmas punch," he shrugged then, as though it was of little concern, and checked his wrist watch.

Amelia frowned, reaching out to grab his hand, not wishing him to suddenly go striding off, like he usually did when he got like this, "Hang on a minute," she looked at him sharply as he lifted his head to meet her eyes, "What have you put in the punch, Holmes? Seriously, I need answers".

"It's nothing, just a small sedative…"

"That's not nothing, Sherlock!" she hissed, her eyes widening, "I saw your mother drinking that punch!"

"Relax," he told her, rolling his eyes, "Everything is going according to plan," he reached down to gently take her hand off his arm, instead entwining his fingers with hers in a gesture that surprised her so much that she could only blink, allowing him to tug her along behind him as he set off back up the garden path to the cottage.

Amelia frowned deeply at him as they went, not at all pleased by the fact that she still felt as though she only knew half the story, "Sherlock, we're supposed to be partners," she reminded him with a annoyed huff, "That means honesty and openness between us, not you apparently coming up with some elaborate plan that involves drugging your family on Christmas Day without even saying a word about it to _me_ ".

"If I had told you, you wouldn't have agreed".

"That's _really_ not making me feel better, Sherlock!"

Sherlock reached the front door of the cottage and pushed the door open, Amelia only looking more upset and annoyed as she followed him over the threshold and into the small entrance hall.

"Sherlock," she gritted out, throwing him a dark look, "Need I tell you just how wrong this is, drugging your own parents? They just wanted to have Christmas with us, for God's sake!"

"Mary!" John's worried voice sounded suddenly, coming from the next room, "Can you hear me?"

Amelia's eyes widened, horrified as her head snapped back around to Sherlock, "Oh, you didn't…" she breathed, "Please tell me you didn't".

Sherlock didn't answer, but his sigh of exasperation was enough to tell her that she was quite correct in her deduction that he had also drugged Mary. He simply turned to the left of the small entrance and grabbed the door handle of the second reception room, opening it to reveal Mary, visibly pregnant, slumped in an armchair in the second reception room as John knelt before her, urgently trying to wake her. John's head snapped up as they stepped into the doorway.

"Don't drink Mary's tea," he warned him, before turning without any further explanation and stepping back into the entrance, reaching for his scarf hanging on one of the pegs.

Amelia sighed heavily, remaining in the doorway as John blinked, "Or the punch," she added, throwing Sherlock a dark look over her shoulder as he quickly looped his scarf around his neck, "Apparently, nothing in this house is drinkable," she huffed, turning away from the door and stepping through the entrance and into the living room, closing her eyes in exasperation at the sight of Sherlock's father lying on his back on one of the sofa's, appearing to be asleep with his punch glass overturned on the coffee table, "Seriously, Sherlock?" she shook her head, "This was supposed to be a _nice_ Christmas with your parents, how can that be too hard to ask for?"

"There's always next year, Amelia," Sherlock replied carelessly, moving around the side of the sofa, holding out his hand over his father's nose, checking to make sure he was actually breathing.

Amelia very easily could have picked up something right then and there and thrown it at Sherlock for how unconcerned he seemed to be by this whole situation, she couldn't believe that it hadn't even been ten minutes ago that she had been happily helping Mrs Holmes in the kitchen. None of this was supposed to happen, it was supposed to be just Christmas with Sherlock's family, there wasn't meant to be any plans or secret meetings. She sighed heavily and glanced worriedly at Mr Holmes as she moved around the sofa, before following Sherlock into the kitchen, finding Sherlock's mother passed out in the armchair by the fireplace and Mycroft slumped at the end of the kitchen table, his head resting on the table top. Wiggins was leaning with his back against the kitchen bench, looking quite calm.

"Sherlock?" John called behind them, "Amelia?" Amelia crossed her arms over her chest, frowning as she watched Sherlock check his mother's breathing before moving around to check Mycroft, just as John stepped through the kitchen door, looking quite cross, "Did you just drug my pregnant wife?" he demanded angrily.

"It wasn't me, John," Amelia told him at once, still watching Sherlock, "For once; I knew nothing of Sherlock's plans".

"Don't worry," Sherlock said calmly, still leaning over his brother, "Wiggins is an excellent chemist".

"Well, that explains why you wanted Wiggins to join us," Amelia muttered, more to herself then the rest of the room, still looking quite annoyed.

Wiggins looked over to John, "I calculated your wife's dose myself," he informed him, "Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on 'er".

"He'll monitor their recovery," Sherlock assured John, straightening as he reached up to adjust his scarf more comfortably around his neck and beneath the collar of his coat. He shrugged, "It's more or less his day job".

John stared at Sherlock, his eyes wide. It was one thing for him not to be included in Sherlock's planning, but Amelia always knew what was going on, she was always in on Sherlock's plan, even when no one else was. If Sherlock hadn't even involved her…what did that say about just how serious and possibly dangerous this plan might be?

"What the hell have you done?" he asked, his voice soft.

Sherlock looked down briefly, sighing, "A deal with the devil," he replied after a moment.

"He means Magnussen," Amelia said to John, swallowing hard when Sherlock refused to look up, "He's made some sort of arrangement with him…" she paused briefly, frowning as she glanced at Mycroft, noting his hand lying on top of it…almost as if he had been reaching for it before he passed out. It hit her then, just what Sherlock was planning to try and give Magnussen in order to save Mary, "The laptop, filled with classified information…" she blinked rapidly as it all made sense to her now, why Sherlock wanted his family all together in one place, why he hadn't complained once about it. She looked up to Sherlock, staring at him, "You're planning to give it to Manussen, aren't you?"

John quickly looked back to Sherlock, who slowly nodded, "Oh, Jesus," he breathed, turning away and quickly walking out of the room, looking quite horrified as Amelia reached up to remove her headband with the Santa hat on it, putting it aside on the kitchen counter behind her, while Sherlock silently reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his gloves.

This was worse than Amelia could have thought, but it made perfect sense now, everything made sense. She didn't know how to feel, if they ended up getting caught doing this, they would all end up in jail for the rest of their lives and Sherlock…he hadn't even stopped to ask her how she might feel about that. She knew that Mary needed to be helped and that if doing this would mean that Mary would be free from ever being blackmailed, that it ought to make the risk worth it, after all, no one deserved to have to live with something like that over their head, but Amelia just wished that Sherlock had told her about his plan.

"Sherlock…!" John called from the living room as Sherlock slipped his gloves on, "…please tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind!"

"To late for that," Amelia muttered, shaking her head. She felt almost as though she was dazed, she couldn't believe that this was seriously happening, she almost wished that she had drunk the punch now so that she didn't have to be involved…but the fact was that she was involved, she always had been and she couldn't not see it to the end, even if that end meant life in prison wearing horrible prison uniforms…actually, was it too late to turn back now? Just the mental image of it made her want to shudder.

Sherlock glanced over to her for a moment, his expression almost apologetic before he turned back towards his brother. He carefully bent down slightly and carefully pulled the laptop out from beneath Mycroft's limp hand, "I'd rather keep you guessing!" he called back to John, straightening with the laptop in hand.

Amelia frowned slightly, hearing something in the distance, straining her ears to hear, when she realised that it sounded like a helicopter approaching from above. She quickly looked back over to Sherlock, "You really thought of everything, didn't you?" she said dryly.

Sherlock meet her eyes, his expression grim, "Perhaps I ought to have told you everything…"

"Yes, Sherlock," she cut across him, her voice sharp, "You should have," she began to turn away from him to head through into the living room, only to pause and look back to him, "For future reference, never keep me in the dark about something this serious again. We're partners, both romantic and business; partners don't keep something this huge from one another".

She turned without another word and strolled out of the kitchen, her heels clicking on the flagstone. She had always thought that her relationship with Sherlock was one based upon honesty with each within both romance and business sides of their partnership. She would never think to keep something as huge as this from Sherlock, but he had because he knew that she wouldn't agree with stealing information from his brother. She felt as though her hand had been forced into doing all of this because she was obligated to see this case through for John and Mary's sakes, she just hoped that it wouldn't end up blowing up in their faces.

The sound of the helicopter grew louder as Amelia and John stepped outside the cottage, Sherlock emerging a moment later from behind them, carrying the laptop and John's coat. The three of them walked down the garden path and out through the front gate, watching as black helicopter landed in the middle of a field out the front of the cottage.

"Coming?" Sherlock asked them as he came to a stop on Amelia's left side, Amelia just trying not to let her heels sink into the mud.

"Where?" John asked at once, frowning deeply in confusion.

He looked around Amelia to him, raising his eyebrows, "D'you want your wife to be safe?"

"Yeah, of _course_ I do".

"Good," he nodded, turning back towards the landing helicopter, "Because this is going to be incredibly dangerous. One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and in prison for high treason," he said very quickly, and Amelia forced herself to remind herself that this was all for Mary, "Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered, and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us".

"But it's Christmas!" John exclaimed indignantly.

Sherlock broke into a grin, "I feel the same," he commented happily.

"Not what he meant, Holmes," Amelia sighed, shaking her head, not even needing to glance at John's face to know.

Sherlock looked at John and his smile vanished, "Oh, you mean it's _actually_ Christmas," he said, looking quite disappointed, before he frowned as a thought occurred to him, "Did you bring your gun as I suggested?"

Amelia blinked, looking startled as she glanced between John and Sherlock, "When did he ask you to bring a gun?" she questioned, confused.

"You were busy trying to find a Christmas present for my parents," Sherlock replied, shrugging as he looked over to her, "It also explains why you missed all the clues, I did tell you not to worry about it".

"Sherlock, it was my first Christmas with your parents, how could I not make a fuss over it?" she huffed in annoyance, glaring across the field to the helicopter, "I wasn't to know that I wouldn't even get the chance to have Christmas dinner with them".

John cleared his throat loudly, interrupting Sherlock from whatever he was about to say, "Sherlock, why would I bring my gun to your parent's house for Christmas dinner?" he shook his head.

"Is it in your coat?" Sherlock held John's coat out towards him.

"Yes," John admitted in annoyance, practically snatching the coat off him. Amelia would have laughed had she not been in a mood herself.

"Off we go, then," Sherlock remarked, starting to stride off across the field towards the helicopter.

"You could have at least warned me about not wearing heels, Holmes," Amelia moaned, gritting her teeth as she struggled not to sink into the muddy field, but she knew already that it was impossible.

"Where are we going?" John asked loudly over the sound of the helicopter as they approached it.

"Appledore," Sherlock answered, and Amelia and John exchanged a quick look. So they were finally getting to see Appledore for themselves, the question was, what would they find once they got there?

 _ **I told you it was going to be a big chapter, hence why I had to shave off a couple of thousand and decided to cut off the first half of it. Good news is that we've only got one chapter left until its Victorian Sherlock and Amelia! Also, did you guys know that there's a fourteen year time gap in the Christmas special between Sherlock and John's first meeting and the actual events of the episode, I figured there was only a five year gap, but fourteen years? That's huge, I'm still trying to figure out exactly what they might mean for that version of the story between Sherlock and Amelia, but I guess you'll just have to wait and see what I plan to do. I'm actually having a lot of fun looking up stuff to try and make it as accurate as possible, for instance, did you know that there is a whole set of rules to do with gloves? It's fascinating.**_

 _ **Next chapter, Sherlock really should listen to Amelia when she has a bad feeling, touching goodbye's, and…Moriarty! As always, Amelia's Christmas outfit will be on my Tumblr. Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	20. Chapter 20 His Last Vow, Part 6

_**His Last Vow, Part 6**_

Appledore was exactly how Amelia remembered it from the plans that Sherlock had managed to obtain months ago of the building, lots of curved and modern lines with large, floor to ceiling windows and white washed walls on the outside, surrounded by large, sweeping fields and a well maintained, modern looking garden. There was even a large pond out the back of the property that they could see as they flew over. The helicopter was brought to a gentle landing in the middle of the perfectly cut lawn out the front of the property and the moment that they had landed, stepping down from the helicopter, wind swirling around them from the spinning blades above their heads, a security man in a black suit appeared from seemingly nowhere to escort them across the lawn and over to the front door, Amelia taking careful note of the few other members of security that she could see dotted around the building, keeping watch, as they neared the front steps.

Amelia glanced at John and Sherlock as they walked side by side, feeling almost as though she was walking into a lion's den as they were led in through the main doors, where two other security men joined them within the entrance. No one spoke as they were lead through into a large, open room that was almost like an indoor garden, filled with exotic plants and massive ferns, the room filled with light that streamed in through the huge windows and dome-like skylight, a faint smell of damp earth tickling Amelia's nose as they were escorted down a long, slightly curved path amongst the foliage. It ought to have been comforting, she had always quite liked the smell of damp earth, it reminded her of playing in the garden after a thunderstorm when she was a little girl, but not even the combination of her slightly muddy heels clicking on the path and the familiar scent could help reassure her that what they were doing right now wasn't breaking some very serious laws.

They were escorted across to where a lift was and Amelia filed in behind Sherlock and the first security man, John squeezing in right behind her. It was a bit of a tight fit as the lift began moving and Amelia was pleased to find herself so tightly pressed against Sherlock's chest, trying hard to calm her pounding heart and the sick feeling of dread inside her stomach. She almost jumped when she felt a cool hand lightly touch her hand, the fingers tracing almost hypnotic circles against her inner wrist, but she almost instantly realised that it was Sherlock, who was eyeing her from the corner of his eye. She still felt upset with him for not telling her from the beginning his plan, but right now she was simply to grateful for the affectionate gesture on his part, knowing that it probably took some effort on his part to feel comfortable doing so, even discreetly, in this place.

The lift arrived a moment later and the doors slid open, Sherlock letting go of her hand and moving to follow the security man out, Amelia taking a deep breath before following him out, too, John right on her heels. She carefully cleared her face of any emotion as they neared Magnussen, who was sitting comfortably back against a large, curved white couch that was pushed up against the glass banister overlooking the indoor garden below, a small whiskey glass in his hand. He hardly even glanced at them as the three of them came to a stop a few feet away from him, his security guard turning and walking off, leaving them alone.

"I would offer you a drink…" Magnussen remarked, holding his glass up for them to see, "But it's very expensive," he lifted it up to his lips and took a sip, finishing the last mouthful before lowering the glass again. He settled his eyes on Amelia, his cold, blank eyes that instantly seemed to see straight through you, and Amelia forced herself not to react, "I'm sure that you would appreciate it, though, Miss Moriarty…" he stopped and gave her a obviously fake apologetic smile, "Oh, I am sorry, you prefer _Wilson_ , don't you?"

Amelia gave him a tight smile, while out of the corner of her eye she noticed Sherlock frown very faintly at Magnussen, "I imagine I probably would, Mr Magnussen," she agreed, keeping her tone light and airy, as though his obvious attempt to unsettle her hadn't happened. She maintained her smile, but her expression grew cooler, "But I don't drink on cases and only with _friends_ ".

Sherlock cleared his throat, still eyeing Magnussen, who was watching Amelia far too closely for his liking as he moved to sit down on the sofa just down from Magnussen, on his right. He sighed happily, sitting Mycroft's laptop down on the seat beside him and brought his gloved hands together on top of his crossed legs, when something on the other side of the room caught his eye, "Oh," he said suddenly, speaking quite calmly, "It _was_ you".

Amelia blinked and turned around, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of a projection being played onto a large glass wall opposite the couch. The footage was of the night of the bonfire, Sherlock frantically dragging Amelia out of the flames, her body limp and covered in soot, until Sherlock eased her onto the grass, where she coughed and gasped horribly, Amelia wincing as the sound filled the room from the speakers. In the footage, as Sherlock leaned over her and shook her shoulders, shouting her name, Amelia on the footage grabbed the front of his shirt, chocking out John's name, before Sherlock jumped onto his feet and rushed back over to the bonfire heap, dragging John's limp body out a moment later. The footage began playing again from the start, seeming to be on a running loop.

"Yes, of course," Magnussen replied lightly, watching the footage play again as John turned toward the projection, actually doing a double take at the sight, "Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr Holmes," he glanced over to Sherlock.

"Mm," Sherlock hummed, still watching the footage play, while John took a few steps towards the projection. Amelia, on the other hand, had seen quite enough of her limp body being dragged out of the flames for her liking and had turned back toward Magnussen and Sherlock, crossing her arms across her chest with a frown.

"The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?" Sherlock tilted his head and shrugged, "But look at the way you care about Amelia Wilson and John Watson, you damsels in distress".

Amelia raised her eyebrows at Magnussen, "You certainly needn't have placed John and I in a bonfire just to prove _that_ ," she told him, remembering that night very well, how she had ended up falling asleep sobbing into Sherlock's chest and had been left with quite a sore throat for a few days after. She gave him a long look as Magnussen simply looked back at her calmly, "This wasn't just about proving a point or testing a theory, this was about showing that you had power over Sherlock".

"You…" John shook his head, turning away from the projection and took a step closer to Magnussen, anger lacing his tone, "Put Amelia and I in a fire…for _leverage_?"

"Oh, I'd never let either of you burn, Doctor Watson," Magnussen said calmly, sitting forward and placing his glass on the coffee table before him, looking back up to John and Amelia, his eyes lingering a little too long on Amelia for her comfort, "I had people standing by," he climbed onto his feet, straightening his blazer absently, "I'm not a murder…" he focused on John, "Unlike your wife".

"No," Amelia said quietly, her expression cold, "You're just a blackmailer".

"Blackmail is such an ugly word," he said, pulling his gaze away from John, who was glaring at him after the remark about Mary. He met Amelia's eyes, "Leverage is far nicer, don't you think?"

"Call it what you will," she shrugged lightly, refusing to back down. She could see Sherlock frowning at her from the corner of her eye, "It still adds up to basically the same thing, you still hold power over another person and that, as far as I am concerned, is emotional blackmail".

"My, my, my…" Magnussen smiled, looking almost amused. He slowly strolled around the edge of his coffee table and across to Amelia, eyeing her as he circled her, while Amelia forced herself to remain completely still, "Someone finally has a backbone," he come to stop directly in front of her, leaning forwards slightly, right into her personal space so that she could feel his breath hitting her face, much to her disgust.

Amelia swallowed, leaning back slightly from him, unable to stand being so close to him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Sherlock gripping the edge of the couch with almost white knuckles, his eyes flickering quickly between herself and Magnussen, while John was watching from a few steps away, looking as though he was gritting his teeth. She forced herself to look back to Magnussen, meeting his eyes, knowing that unless she ended this now, either Sherlock or John was going to end up snapping and she didn't wish for either of them to do that, not for her.

"I'm not English," she said, purposely making her Irish accent more preannounced. She took a step back from him and edged around him, walking over to take a seat on Sherlock's left side, wanting to keep as far away from Magnussen as possible. She almost regretted having said anything to him, but he truly did disgust her and she simply hadn't been able to resist. Beside her, very slightly, Sherlock turned towards her, his leg lightly brushing against her own, and she allowed herself to release a long, slow breath that she had been holding while Magnussen had been standing so close to her, some of the tension in her shoulders relaxing.

Magnussen smirked, glancing back over towards Sherlock and Amelia, before he turned back towards John, "Perhaps I should explain exactly how leverage works, for your benefit, Doctor Watson," he commented, walking passed John and over to the glass wall with the projection still playing on it, reaching out to touch the screen and sliding the footage off out of sight with a small beep, "For those who understand these things," he turned back around to face the three of them, "Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well…apart from me," he smiled faintly and John tilted his head, his expression hard. Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a quick look, before Magnussen continued, "Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock," he strolled back over towards the couch, "And Sherlock's pressure point is his girlfriend, the lovely and tenacious, Amelia Wilson…" he gave Amelia a leering smile, making her have to suppress a shiver of disgust, "Who's pressure point is namely Sherlock Holmes and mutual best friend, John Watson," he turned back around to focus on John, "John Watson's pressure point is his wife. I own John Watson's wife…" he looked back over to Sherlock, "I own Mycroft," he moved back over to the couch and sat down, still looking at Sherlock, " _He's_ what I'm getting for Christmas," he held out his hand towards Sherlock for the laptop, ignoring the fact that it was easily within reach beside him.

Sherlock frowned faintly and shoved the laptop across the seat to him, not looking in his direction, "It's an exchange, not a gift," he corrected, rising from the couch and, actually pausing to offer Amelia his hand, which she gratefully did, pleased with the excuse to be able to remain close to him as they stepped away from the couch before turning back around, watching Magnussen.

"Forgive me, but…" Magnussen picked up the laptop, clutching it close to his chest as he stroked the back of it. He looked back up to Sherlock and Amelia, raising his eyebrows, "I already seem to have it".

"It's password protected," he told him, giving him an almost mocking little smile before growing serious again, "In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson".

"Oh, she's bad, that one," he remarked, nodding, "So many dead people," his eyes flickered over to John, who clutched his fists tightly at his sides, "You should see what I've seen".

John shook his head at once, "I don't _need_ to see it," he replied, his voice soft, but firm.

"You might enjoy it, though," he said with a faint smile. Amelia looked over to John, watching him worriedly as he visibly swallowed and held Magnussen's gaze, looking as though he was doing everything possible not to lung across the room at the man. Magnussen's smile widened, " _I_ enjoy it".

Sherlock casually clasped his hands behind his back as John nodded slowly, not looking very surprised by Manussen's admission, "Then why don't you show us?" he asked him, eyeing him closely.

"Show you Appledore?" he pulled his gaze away from John and over to Sherlock, placing the laptop on the seat beside him, "The secret vaults?" he sat forward slightly, his voice growing softer, "Is that what you want?"

"I _want_ everything you've got on Mary".

Magnussen gave a small, breathy laugh and shook his head before breaking into a proper laugh. Amelia frowned, eyeing him, having the strangest feeling that Magnussen was just playing them right now, trying to keep them distracted, but to what end, exactly? He had all the power right now…save for the password to the laptop, but he really didn't seem to be concerned by that, so what was really going on right now? Why was that feeling of dread that she had first felt when they had arrived seem to be increasing?

"You know…" he began, once his laughter had faded, reaching out to lightly pat the laptop, "I honestly expected something good," he focused on Sherlock, any trace of humour gone.

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop…" Sherlock said lightly, shrugging, but Magnussen quickly cut across him.

"…include a GPS locator," he continued to stare at Sherlock, who tensed very slightly. Amelia looked nervously between them, feeling her heart rate speedup, "By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived…" he looked pointedly down to the laptop, "They'll find top secret information in my hands and have every justification to search my vaults," he leaned forward as he spoke, picking up his glass before settling back against his couch, looking perfectly relaxed and at ease, "They will discover further information of this kind and I'll be imprisoned. _You_ …" he looked directly at Sherlock, "…will be exonerate, and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes alongside the _good_ Moriarty…" he nodded to Amelia, a hint of sarcasm in his tone as Amelia narrowed her eyes on him, "…and your mutual friends, Mr and Mrs Psychopath," he glanced at John, lifting the glass closer to his mouth, "Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time," he turned back to Sherlock, " He'll be a very, _very_ proud big brother," he took a sip from his glass, finishing it.

Amelia frowned deeply, shooting Sherlock a quick look from the corner of her eye. Something wasn't right about this whole thing; there was something she was missing. Magnussen was so calm and collected, no hint of worry at all, they could have been discussing the weather right now and she doubted if his tone would sound any different. But beneath that calm there was something else, a certain smugness, as though he had already won whatever game it was that he was playing with them.

Sherlock eyed Magnussen, "The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it," he warned him, frowning at him as he placed his empty glass back down onto the table.

"Then why am I smiling?" he looked back up to them, smiling just a little bit, "Ask me".

"Why are you smiling?" John stepped forward, no doubt realising that neither Amelia, nor Sherlock would actually ask something like that, not when Magnussen practically goaded them into doing it. They were both to prideful for that.

"Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves…" he looked back up to Sherlock, who frowned at him in confusion, "And everything he holds dear," without breaking eye contact, he slowly rose from his couch, "Let me show you the Appledore vaults".

He turned and began to walk across the room, slipping through an open glass doorway of what seemed to be his office, John moving to follow after him, but as Sherlock turned too, Amelia reached out to grab his arm, stopping him.

"Sherlock, I think we should leave," she whispered to him urgently, throwing a nervous look over towards the open doors that John had just disappeared through. She licked her lips and looked back to Sherlock, tightening her hold on his arm, "Just grab the laptop and say you've changed your mind, hell, tell him you have food poisoning, just find some way to call this off".

Sherlock frowned at her, looking even more confused, "Amelia, the plan is working," he said quietly, gently trying to pry her fingers off his arm, but she refused to budge.

"Holmes, none of this makes sense," she shook her head, keeping her voice just a whisper, "Magnussen knows that Mycroft is on his way and that his vaults will be searched, he _knows_ that he'll be thrown in prison for the rest of his life when that happens…so _why_ is he still agreeing to let us into his vault? Why agree to any of this in the first place when the risk of being caught was so high? Magnussen is careful and calculating, he would never risk something like this, not even for the type of information Mycroft's laptop could give him," she gave him an almost pleading look, just desperately wanting Sherlock to see that there had to be something else going on here, that it surely had to be a trap because it made no sense for it to be anything else, "Please, Sherlock, call this off. We can figure something else out to help Mary".

He stared back at her, looking quite startled by how truly afraid she looked right now, not having seen her look so desperate in a long, long time. She truly was afraid that Magnussen had set a trap for them, she truly believed that it was possible…which it was, he hated to admit, but there was also the chance that they could still help Mary. This could very well be there only chance to get inside Magnussen's vault; they couldn't just let that chance slip through their fingers when they were this close. Besides, the plan had worked perfectly so far…

"Amelia…" he said firmly, but gently, managing to pry his arm free so that he could touch her left cheek. Physical contact usually worked to calm her down, "Amelia, listen to me," he spoke very slowly and carefully, "If I believed for a moment that the plan had gone wrong, I would have got you and John out by now, but Magnussen is doing everything I expected him to do. Trust me".

She frowned at him, "I do trust you," she said at once, before sighing heavily, "I just don't trust Magnussen not to have something hidden up his sleeve. I have a bad feeling about this whole thing".

"It's all going according to plan," he told her firmly, lowering his hand from her cheek. Inwardly, however, he did have to admit that she might have made a good point…Magnussen was very calm about showing them his vault even knowing that Mycroft was on his way. It was a little odd and suspicious, perhaps, but they had come to close to leave now empty handed.

Amelia eyed him closely, not looking any more reassured then she had when she first stopped him, but she didn't seem to be quite as panicked as before, "Sherlock, if this goes wrong…" she paused, swallowing hard as she met his eyes, "This won't end well for you. If there's any doubt in your mind, I really think you should listen to it…in fact, I _beg_ you to".

There was doubt in his mind now, but he wasn't about to admit that, even to Amelia, she would merely take that as more encouragement to push that they leave. The board had been set and he was winning, he didn't see how it was possible for Magnussen to get away with any of this any longer, Mycroft and his men would be here shortly and that would be the end of it, Magnussen would be put away for life and any crimes that he had committed in order to do it would be swept under the rug, like usual, by his grateful big brother. Amelia and John would be completely in the clear and they would all go on with their lives, Mary free and able to live without the threat of Magnussen hanging over her head. It would all be worth it, Amelia would see that in the end.

"Just trust me," he said again, giving her a very small smile.

Amelia huffed in annoyance and took a step back from him, really not liking how dismissive he was being right now, "I'm not an idiot, Sherlock," she narrowed her eyes on him, "I know perfectly well that you think your plan is foolproof, but even you can be blind sighted".

"I can always count on you to keep me in check, both you and John".

"Not that you listen…" she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she looked away from him. She still didn't like any of this and was still completely convinced that Magnussen had set a trap for them, but she could see that Sherlock was too far gone for her to talk sense to and, perhaps he was right and his plan was working, she desperately hoped that she was wrong and that his plan was working, the alternative was simply to horrible to think of right now. Either way, one of them would be right, but Amelia knew for certain that there would be no satisfaction if she was correct.

Sherlock placed a finger beneath her chin, gently turning her head back towards him, "I always listen and value your opinion," he said very seriously, "But I assure you, Magnussen is finished".

"Just as long as he doesn't take you down with him, Holmes," her expression grew harder, shaking her head firmly and he dropped his finger from beneath her chin, "He's not worth it".

She gave him one last look before turning and walking across to the open glass doors, Sherlock following close behind her as they stepped into the smaller office space that had a large desk positioned in the middle of the room, a couple of ornaments sitting upon the polished wooden surface. Magnussen was standing before a set of large, wooden doors on the other side of the office, John hovering close to him, both men turning as the detectives entered.

"Sorry about that," Sherlock said, clearly not sorry at all, "We had a quick matter to discuss," he focused on Magnussen, raising his eyebrows, "I believe you were about to show us your vaults…?" he trailed off expectantly.

Magnussen looked between him and Amelia, his eyes narrowed, but neither of them gave away a single thing as to what they might be thinking or feeling, Amelia careful to keep her face completely clear of any emotion, while Sherlock almost looked impatient. He slowly turned back to the doors, reaching out to grasp the doorhandles, surprising Amelia slightly by his lack of comment.

"The entrance to my vaults," he remarked, turning back slightly towards them, his eyes flickering from John to Amelia, and then to Sherlock, measuring their reaction, "This is where I keep you all".

He turned back to the door and pulled both doors open, stepping a few paces into the room. Amelia blinked slowly, staring into the room, which consisted of simply white walls and flooring with a single black, metal and leather low-back chair in the middle of the room, directly facing the doorway. She closed her eyes and ducked her head, a sickening sense of horror starting to dawn on her, while beside her, Sherlock and John simply looked at the room in confusion and growing realisation, on Sherlock's part. She fully understood now why Magnussen had been so calm about Mycroft turning up to search his vaults, she knew now why she had felt so certain that this was a trap…because it _was_ a trap and they had walked straight into it.

"Okay…" John said slowly, still looking quite confused, turning his attention back onto Magnussen, "So where are the vaults, then?"

"Vaults?" Magnussen turned back towards him, shaking his head, "What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building," he moved further into the room and, flipping back his blazer, calmly sitting down in his chair, gesturing around the brightly lit room, "They're all in here".

John frowned, looking even more confused and puzzled, while Sherlock's eyes widened, the truth finally hitting him. Slowly, looking as though he might be sick, he looked at Amelia in horror, who met his eyes, her face very pale and looking as though she might faint. This was exactly what she had feared, what she had desperately tried to get Sherlock to see, but she hadn't quite expected that it would be this bad. There was no vaults, none at all, she had thought that perhaps Magnussen had simply cleared them out before they had arrived, but if there wasn't even an empty room or evidence to suggest that something had been moved, then there was no proof of Magnussen's crimes, no paper trail to follow, no documents or forensic evidence, just… _nothing_.

Magnussen leaned forward in his chair and lifted his hand up to his temple, "The Appledore vaults are in my Mine Palace," he explained to them, smirking very slightly as he focused on Sherlock, "You know all about Mind Palaces, don't you, Sherlock?" he raised his eyebrows as Sherlock swallowed hard, his mouth slipping open slightly in horror as he slowly pulling his gaze away from Amelia, unable to bear looking at her any longer. Magnussen's smirk widened, observing them, "How to store information so you never forget it, by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes…" he did just that as he spoke, lowering his head very slightly, "And down I go to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults…my memories," he raised his hand, holding it out as though reaching for something, "I'll look at files on Mrs Watson…" he began making a motion with his hands, looking as if he was actually shifting through the draw of a filing cabinet, his eyes still firmly closed.

Amelia felt sick; staring at him blankly, barely paying attention to what he was doing or saying, and yet somehow seeing all of it. She could feel her hands shaking at her sides and so she curled them into fists, her manicured nails digging painfully into her flesh, but it was as if she was numbed to everything and nothing. She knew it was probably partly shock; she had experience a sense of detachment like this before when she had been in shock, her heart pounding loudly in his ears and her head feeling light.

She glanced at Sherlock, feeling her chest constrict at the sight of his expression, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth slightly bared, knowing that he felt the same sickening sense of horror as she did. If there were no files or documents to be found, then Sherlock had just committed high treason, by stealing Mycroft's laptop and giving it to Magsnussen, it truly did seem as though he had simply handed over top secret government files to him. She didn't think even Mycroft could save him now and it truly terrified her, almost as much as when he had been shot had, because Sherlock was now officially a criminal and facing the possibility of life behind bars…

"Mmm, ah…" Magsnussen smiled suddenly, holding his hand up as though he had something in it for them to see, "This is one of my favourites," he leaned back in his chair and motioned placing something invisible on top of his knees, "It's so exciting," his smile grew as he began moving his hands to make it look like he was flipping through the pages of an invisible book or file, chuckling quietly at whatever he was seeing behind his eyelids, "All those wet jobs for the CIA…Ooh!" he pointed to something on his invisible page, "She's gone a bit…freelance now. Bad girl," he motioned turning a page and laughed, pausing to hold up a finger before laughing again, shaking his head, "Ah, she is so wicked. I can really see why you like her," he motioned closing the invisible file and placing it into an imaginary cabinet drawer before closing it in thin air. He sat back in his chair and opened his eyes, looking back up to them, "You see?"

"So there are no documents?" John cleared his throat, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, "You don't actually have anything here".

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something…" he replied and glanced at his watch, frowning slightly, "…if I really need it, but mostly I just remember it all, much like Mrs Wilson here…" he focused on Amelia, who pulled her eyes away from Sherlock to look at him, looking physically ill. He gave her a smirk, "Only you don't practice with a Mind Palace, do you? You really should consider it…"

John still looked quite confused, shooting Amelia a quick, concerned look when she didn't say a word, which was quite unlike her not to have something to shoot back at Magnussen. Instead, she simply stared at him with cold, emotionless eyes, looking as though she had completely shut herself off from the world. It was an expression he hoped to never see on her face again. He turned back towards Magnussen, shaking his head.

"I don't understand".

Magnussen looked over to him, "You should have that on a T-shirt".

"You just remember it _all_?"

"It's all about knowledge," Magnussen looked directly at Sherlock, " _Everything_ is. Knowing is owning".

"But if you just _know_ it, then you don't have proof".

"Proof?" he looked back over to John, looking more amused than anything, "What would I need proof for? I'm in the news, moron. I don't have to prove it, I just have to print it," Amelia closed her eyes briefly, knowing that he was right, completely right. He could print anything he wanted about them and there would always be someone who would believe it, but take any story and find a grain of truth to go along with it…that was what would sell it to most casual readers, her brother had proven that fact beautifully, "Speaker of news…" Magnussen continued, climbing onto his feet and buttoning his blazer, "You three will be heavily featured tomorrow, trying to sell state secrets to me," he tutted disapprovingly, looking at them, before checking his watch again, "Let's go outside They'll be here shortly," he turned and walked back through the door, passing by John as he headed back towards the glass double doors of the office, saying over his shoulder, "Can't wait to see you arrested".

John watched him go, waiting until he had left the office before turning to Amelia and Sherlock, "Do we have a plan?" he asked them quietly, looking between them, but neither of them seemed to hear him, staring blankly off into space, "Sherlock?" he tried more sharply, "Amelia?"

Amelia blinked and seemed to come out of her horrified daze, looking back to John, "We…" she paused, clearing her throat, "We'll figure something out," she said more firmly, sounding a bit more like herself again. She glanced at Sherlock, who was still frozen in place, she had never before seen him look so completely miserable and regretful before in all the years she had known him, "Sherlock?" she reached out to him, gently taking his hand, but he barely even reacted, "Sherlock, right? We'll think of something, we always do".

John looked at Sherlock, who didn't move an inch, still looking off into space. He glanced at Amelia, seeing her confidant expression starting to crumble, looking closer to tears than anything else, "Jesus…" he breathed, realising just how bad this really was, giving them one last look before he turned and left the office after Magnussen.

"Sherlock, please…" Amelia squeezed his hand tighter, just wanting him to say something, anything. Thankfully, this time he did react, blinking rapidly and looking back to her, but he still didn't really seem to be completely present, "Sherlock, it's…it's a mess, there's no deny that," she swallowed thickly, struggling against the urge to cry, "But we can still figure something out, there's got to be _something_ , we can't just let you be arrested!"

"Amelia," Sherlock said suddenly, his voice flat as he reached out to grab both of her shoulders, "I'm sorry".

"No! Don't you dare apologise to me, Sherlock Holmes, save that for after we've got a plan and I can shout at you properly…"

"There isn't going to be an after, Amelia!" he snapped, instantly making her voice die in her throat, knowing that logically, he was right. He took a deep breath, his expression full of despair, "I never…I'm sorry, this isn't what I wanted…you need to understand…"

"I know," she cut across him, closing her eyes tightly as she pressed her forehead against his, "It's okay".

He kissed her then. It happened so quickly that she didn't even have a chance to respond, to kiss him back properly, before he was already letting go of her and turning to stride away, out through the office door. Amelia blinked rapidly for a moment before moving to follow after him, more out of instinct than anything else, still feeling quite shocked. She hoped he remembered to wipe any trace of her lipstick off his lips, that could prove to be a little embarrassing, but she didn't have a chance to remind him, just in case, before they were moving passed the very modern, open kitchen and dining area and out through the open patio door, where John and Magnussen were already standing out in the evening air.

"I still don't understand," John said as they neared the door.

"And there's the back of the T-shirt," Magnussen remarked, busy looking up at the darkening sky, just as Sherlock and Amelia reached the still open door and stepped out to join them.

John frowned at Magnussen, "You just _know_ things," he shook his head, "How does _that_ work?"

Magnussen turned to face him, eyeing him with a funny little smile on his face, "I just _love_ your little soldier face," he said lightly, and John almost gaped at him with wide eyes, "I'd love to punch it. Bring it over here a minute. Come on," he continued watching him as John glanced over to Amelia and Sherlock, but neither of them could do anything more than nod very slightly, unable to even meet John's eyes, pain written across Sherlock's face, knowing that he was responsible, in part, for this, "For Mary," he stared at John, who slowly turned back to him, "Bring me your face".

"This is wrong," Amelia murmured under her breath, her eyes moving between John and Magnussen, just wanting to step in front of John and refuse to back down, she didn't care if she had to put up with whatever twisted little game that Magnussen wanted to play to try and humiliate her, she would deal with it rather than stand by and watch it happen to John.

Sherlock grabbed her hand, squeezing it pointedly, "We don't have a choice," he muttered, looking as though he wanted to be ill himself.

John cleared his throat, looking very uncomfortable as he slowly took a couple of short steps toward Magnussen, who leaned down slightly, bringing their faces almost level, given how short John was.

"Lean forward a bit and stick out your face," Magnussen told him, giving him a little smirk as John frowned and shifted his weight slightly, "Please?" he leaned in closer to him as a muscle jumped in John's cheek, reluctantly craning his neck forward very slightly, as he was instructed, "Now, can I flick it?"

John snorted in disbelief and looked down; shaking his head before slowly lifting his head again, while Amelia clutched Sherlock's hand almost to the point that she was sure it was probably quite painful, but she couldn't help it. It was either that or lunging at Magnussen.

"Can I flick your face?" Magnussen repeated, looking at him intently. John looked as though he was gritting his teeth, but he still reluctantly leaned slightly closer to him, allowing Magnussen to slowly reach out and flick his middle finger against his cheek, making John blink instinctively. Magnussen flicked his cheek again, laughing in delight, "I just love doing this," he glanced over to Sherlock and Amelia, "I could do it all day," he turned back to John, smiling happily, "It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed," he flicked John's cheek, while Amelia squeezed her eyes shut in disgust, "I know where to find people who hate her," he flicked his cheek again, "I know where they live, I know their phone numbers…" he did it again, twice, "I know where they live, I know their phone numbers…" and again, another two times, "All in my Mind Palace, _all_ of it. I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down, and I will…unless you let me flick your face," he flicked his cheek three times, making John flinch very slightly, while Amelia gritted her teeth and glared furiously at Magnussen, she didn't think she could hate someone more than in this very moment, "This is what I do to people," he continued calmly, "This is what I do to whole countries…" he straightened, shrugging, "Just because I know," he paused, seeming to consider John for a moment before leaning back down to eye level with him, "Can I do your eye now?"

Amelia made a hissing sound like a cat, lunging forward so quickly that her heels skidded across the floor, but Sherlock had apparently been expecting her to try something like that, managing to wrap his arm around her middle and tug her back into his chest, pinning her to him.

"Let go of me!" she snapped at Sherlock, while Magnussen began laughing again, looking delighted. She struggled against his hold, really not wishing to have to kick his shin, knowing well enough that she could end up actually hurting him with her heel if she did that and no matter how angry she might be, causing Sherlock or John physical harm was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I can't let you do that, Amelia," Sherlock muttered in her ear, his grip firm, "You _know_ you can't hit Magnussen".

She stilled at that, glaring at Magnussen and his smug, knowing little smirk that he had on his face, wanting nothing more than to wipe it off his face…but Sherlock was right. She couldn't hit Magnussen, not when he held all the power over them and, besides, she rather not have an assault charge against her and she knew that Magnussen would do just that, on top of everything else. She forced herself, instead, to take a deep breath and relax her body, Sherlock slowly letting her go, watching her intently all the while, however.

"Ooh, feisty," Magnussen smirked, eyeing Amelia, "I see why you like her," he glanced over to Sherlock, who shot him a dark look, "Now, where was I…?" he slowly turned back to John, his smirk turning into a grin, "Oh, yes, let's see how long you can keep that eye open, hmm?" he leaned down until he was eye level with John and reached out, flicking John's eyebrow. He sniggered as John flinched and closed his eyes before doing it again, "Come on," he goaded, "For Mary. Keep it open…" he reached out, his finger under his thumb, ready to flick him again.

"Sherlock?" John said through gritted teeth, "Amelia?"

"Let him," Sherlock told him quietly, staring at him regretfully. Magnussen looked back over to them, "I'm sorry. Just…let him".

"I'm so sorry, John," Amelia breathed, feeling completely helpless. John grimaced and slowly turned back to Magnussen.

Magnussen leaned back down towards him, raising his hand up again, ready to flick him, "Come on," he urged him, "Eye open," he flicked his eyebrow again, laughing as John flinched, glaring back at him as his eyes snapped open. He flicked him again, laughing even harder, thoroughly enjoying himself and John's obvious anger, "It's difficult, isn't it?" he grinned at him, straightening, "Janine managed it once," he glanced back over to Sherlock and Amelia, Sherlock reaching out to grasp Amelia's wrist in warning, "She makes the funniest noises".

Amelia opened her mouth to say something rather unpleasant back to him, when the sound of a helicopter sounded from somewhere overhead. She blinked and looked upwards in time to see it came soaring over the top of the houses roof, a large spotlight lit up on the belly of it as it came to hover in the air a short distance away from the patio, hitting them with the spotlight, buffering them with wind from the spinning blades. Suddenly, armed police carrying very large guns began running towards the patio from around the side of the house, surrounding them.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Mycroft's voice blared out of the aircrafts speaker over the noise of the chopper, "Amelia Wilson and John Watson, stand away from that man!"

Magnussen smiled and looked back over to Sherlock and Amelia, "Here we go, Mr Holmes!" he called over to him, looking positively delighted.

"To clarify," Sherlock began loudly over all the noise, letting go of Amelia's hand and moving closer to John's side. Amelia frowned slightly, throwing him a look as she stepped forward, too, "Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind," he continued, looking passed John to Magnussen, "Nowhere else, just there".

"They're not real," Magnussen confirmed, still smiling as he looked up towards the hovering helicopter, "They never have been".

Amelia glanced at Sherlock, brushing aside some of the stray curls around her face that the wind was tousling around, eyeing him with a deep frown. He nodded slowly at Magnussen's words and looked down, his expression determined, but it didn't comfort her, not one bit. He had come to some sort of decision in that moment, though she had no idea what, she couldn't read him and he was being very careful not to give any subtle clue away, no doubt knowing that she would be looking for any sign as to what he was planning.

"Sherlock Holmes, Amelia Wilson, and John Watson!" Mycroft shouted over the speaker again, "Step _away_!"

Magnussen calmly strolled forward a couple of steps, "It's fine!" he called loudly, waving his hand at the helicopter, "They're harmless!"

"Sherlock, Amelia," John looked quickly back to his friends, Amelia still throwing Sherlock suspicious looks, "What do we do?"

"Nothing!" Magnussen told them over his shoulder, staring up at the helicopter, before looking back over to them, "There's nothing to be done! Oh, I'm not a villain," he shook his head, smirking at them, "I have no evil plan. I'm a business man, acquiring assists. _You_ happen to be one of them!"

Sherlock looked towards John, watching him briefly before he looked at Amelia on the other side of him, catching her gaze as she stared at him. She shook her head at him, pleading with him not to do whatever it was that he had obviously decided to do because even though she didn't know what it was yet, she knew from the sheer flicker of regret in his eyes as he looked at her that it would be nothing good. She knew that he would do anything to protect the people he loved, it didn't matter if he would likely scoff at her for having said so, she knew for a fact that he would, so what would he do if he believed that they were pushed into a corner and out of options? The very thought made a cold shiver run down her spin.

"Sorry!" Magnussen said loudly, looking directly at Sherlock, "No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr Holmes," he turned away from him, looking back up towards helicopter as Sherlock visibly swallowed and pulled his eyes off Amelia, who released a shaky breath, feeling her hands start to shake.

"Sherlock Holmes, Amelia Wilson, and John Watson, stand away from that man!" Mycroft ordered more firmly, "Do it _now_!"

"Oh, do your research," Sherlock scoffed suddenly, rolling his eyes at Magnussen. He took a step closer to John before moving away from him again, moving on a funny angle so that Amelia couldn't see exactly what he seemed to be holding in his hand, walking towards Magnussen, "I'm not a hero…" he glared at him, just as Magnussen turned towards him, "I'm a high-functioning sociopath…"

Amelia's eyes widened in horror, just as he turned slightly, finally allowing her to be able to see John's pistol that he was holding in his gloved right hand, "Sherlock, no!" she screamed, lunging forward, but she was too late, her heels skidding on the floor.

"…Merry Christmas!" he shouted, raising the pistol right at Magnussen's head and firing…

Amelia's hand grasped Sherlock's arm, just as he pulled the trigger and a loud bang sounded, echoing painfully through her ears, deafening her slightly. She breathed heavily in shock and horror, time seeming to stand still as she looked down to see Magnussen's body fall backwards onto the patio, completely limp with blood dribbling slowly down his forehead, his eyes wide and glazed over…her heart pounded and she thought she might be sick as she looked back to Sherlock, his eyes meeting hers for a split second before he quickly turned away, tossing the gun onto the ground and holding his hands up on either side of his head, time suddenly resuming again.

"Oh, my God…" she found herself gasping, over and over again, as her hearing slowly returned. She realised then that she had tiny traces of blood splattered across her face, but it was only a passing thought in the swirl of thoughts and emotion running through her so fast that she felt faint. Sherlock had just shot someone, right in front of her; he had just murdered a man at point-blank range…there was no chance that he could come back from this, no chance of ever seeing the free light of the sun again. After everything they had been through together, all of those years John believed them to be dead and Amelia had pretended to be someone else, waiting for Sherlock to return, it all seemed completely pointless now. All of that time that the three of them could have been together, that she could have been with Sherlock, wasted and now…now it was all over, for good this time. There was no coming back from this; Amelia couldn't see how it would ever be possible.

"Man down," radios of the police buzzed as they all came running, aiming their guns at Sherlock, "Man down!"

"Get away from me, Amelia, John!" Sherlock called back over his shoulder to his two stunned and horrified friends. He took a step forward, glancing back over towards them, his expression grim, "Stay well back!"

" _Christ_ , Sherlock!" John cried desperately, holding his hands up shakily.

Amelia slowly stumbled backwards from Sherlock, lifting her hands up in a daze, unable to take her eyes of Sherlock's back, "My God, Sherlock!" she breathed, blinking rapidly, struggling to comprehend what she had just witnessed, "I can't…!" she shook her head, anguish written across her face.

"Stand fire!" Mycroft shouted frantically over the speaker, while the police grew closer to the bottom steps of the patio, "Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!"

"Oh, Christ, Sherlock," John said breathlessly, looking close to collapsing himself.

Sherlock slowly looked back over his shoulder to him, red dots trained all over his chest from the guns aimed on him, "Give my love to Mary," he told him, giving him a strained smile as John blinked, staring back at him in pain, "Tell her she's safe now," he gave him one last look before looking over to Amelia, regret filling his face as he looked at her pale, stricken face, "Amelia…" he hesitated, before swallowing, "I'm sorry".

Amelia couldn't speak, she couldn't even cry, she was simply to stunned by what had just happened, unable to do anything more than stare back at him, hands still raised, watching as he slowly turned back to face the police and the helicopter. He began to carefully sink down onto his knees, wind whipping his hair and coat around him as he stared directly ahead of himself, about to face his fate.

….

Exile, that was Sherlock's fate. Every time Amelia closed her eyes and found herself alone, it was as if the words echoed through her mind, taunting her time after time. Barely a week had passed since Sherlock had been arrested for killing Magnussen and neither she nor John had been allowed to see him, kept entirely alone and isolated from everyone else, only Mycroft had been allowed to see him and even then, it had been minimal. Amelia had barely been able to stop herself from screaming at Mycroft when he had come to break the news to her about what Sherlock's sentence would be, forced to take the cast in Eastern Europe that they had been told ought to take only six months before Sherlock would surely be killed, the only thing that had stopped her was the fact that at least this way there might be some hope, some _tiny_ chance that he might make it, even though she knew that she was grasping at straws right now. She kept repeating to herself that not even Mycroft Holmes could be sure about everything, but even she wasn't able to completely deny the fact that even if, by some miracle, Sherlock did manage to live, he would never be able to return to London or see any of them again, he would have to disappear completely…but at least he would be alive.

For the most part, Amelia had found herself coping with the whole situation by just trying to ignore it, whenever John began to bring it up she would instantly find an excuse to leave the room or claim to have forgotten something important, thankfully John seemed to have realised this and had stopped bringing up the topic after the first two days of Sherlock's imprisonment, instead they found themselves chatting about the baby, what colour they were doing the nursery, now that John had moved back in with Mary and everything between them had been put aside, it proved to be a nice distraction for Amelia to be able to focus on something that didn't include her boyfriend.

And then the day came when they would be saying their goodbye's to Sherlock and Amelia found herself sitting in the back seat of a black town car, staring down at the black skirt of her A-line dress through her rounded sunglasses, lightly toying with the cuff of her bright red coat. Her red handbag was sitting on the floor by her Louboutin heels that she was wearing and a small pair of pearl studs were in her ears, along with a matching pearl necklace that she had worn during a case almost three years previously. Her hair was up in a French twist and her usual customary red lipstick covered her lips, but she very dearly hoped that she wouldn't end up crying and ruin her eyeliner, she had so far managed to keep herself from bursting into tears since Sherlock's arrest, but she didn't think she was going to be able to say that after Sherlock's plane had taken off and he had truly gone.

She was taking the drive to the privet airstrip on her own, while John and Mary would be taking their own car, not having wished for the three of them to have squeeze into the same car…besides, as much as she loved them and was grateful for their support, it was a little painful to see them together, while she was about to say farewell to her own boyfriend with the knowledge that within six months, he would be dead. She felt like she was about to talk to a dying person and she simply didn't know how to deal with that.

This wasn't supposed to be this way, Amelia thought to herself as she stared blankly out the window, none of this should have happened, but it had and there was nothing more to be done about it, no enemy to fight or clever plan to come up with, it truly was the end of the line for the three of them. Once again, she was about to lose the man she loved and once again her life, as she knew it, would forever be changed as a result of it. The last time, it had taken her two years to get over her first husband's death, but Sherlock…he had been more than just her romantic partner, he had been her friend and one of the few people who knew and understood her, she would never find another person who would be able to do that. She knew that for certain because there was only one Sherlock Holmes.

The car arrived at the private airstrip and as Amelia watched, she had a sudden memory of doing this very same thing the previous year when Sherlock had returned, only that time she had been filled with happiness, not despair and grief. What a difference a year could make. She very nearly burst into tears the moment she caught sight of Sherlock standing on the tarmac outside a large stationary jet, Mycroft and a security man standing close by him, watching, but somehow she managed to stop herself, breathing steadily in through her nose and out through her mouth, swallowing the lump in her throat as the car was brought to a stop a few feet away from them.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, she reached out to open the door and, not bothering to grab her handbag, carefully stepped out onto the tarmac. She tried to distract herself from the sensation of Sherlock's eyes watching her intently, fearing that the moment she faced him that she would completely crumble and make a complete blubbering mess of herself right there and then, taking the time to straighten her coat before she finally did turn around and began to walk across to the small group, her heels clicking ringing in her ears as she finally looked at Sherlock's face, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head.

He looked no different, his hair still just as curly as usual, dressed in his normal coat and scarf, the only thing that might be a little off about him was that he seemed to be watching her more intently than normal, as though he thought she might disappear if he didn't. It was so strange for him, he was never usually like that, but she supposed that given that it was the last time they would see each other, it was hardly surprising.

"Amelia," he said softly as she came to a stop a foot away from him, not looking away.

"Sherlock".

He gave her a strained smile, dragging his eyes away from her face long enough to take in her outfit, "I see you went shopping," he remarked lightly.

Amelia cold have burst into tears, hearing him trying to tease her like he normally always would about her clothing, instead she cleared her throat and looked down at herself, forcing a smile, "It's what I do best," she paused, licking her lips as she forced herself to meet his eyes, "What do you think?" she waved a hand down her front, trying to keep things normal, as though she wasn't close to sobbing like a three year old and throwing herself into his arms, refusing to let go of him until she would be literally dragged away.

"I think you spent far too much money on articles of clothing you undoubtedly already possess amongst your absurdly large closest".

"So…you like it, then?" she smiled, properly this time.

He stared at her for a long moment before breaking into a smile, his features softening instantly, "Obviously".

She laughed and for a moment it was as though none of this was happening, she and Sherlock were just back at Baker Street and she was happily wearing a new outfit for the first time, letting Sherlock tease her, like he always used to do. It hit her then with a pained tug on her heart that this was the last time he would do that, the last time anyone would tease her like he did and make her laugh, force her to ignore his words and instead deduce his true feelings through subtle looks or body language. It was almost like a game between them, slightly flirty and playful, a game that no one else would ever understand like they did. She looked back to his face, feeling her chest constricting with emotion as they simply stood there, not speaking, just looking at once another, pretending as though Mycroft and the security officer wasn't standing a mere three steps away from them.

Amelia was the first to break eye contact, hearing the sound of another car approaching and turning to see a black, shinny town car, just like the one she had ridden in, drifting up the tarmac towards them before pulling into a stop close to Amelia's one. The back rear door opened and Mary stepped out, wearing a large red coat that partly obscured her large baby bump, while on the other side of the car, John climbed out. Breaking into a smile, Mary walked over towards Amelia and Sherlock, Amelia stepping aside slightly to let John and Mary speak to Sherlock properly.

"You will look after him for me, won't you, Mary?" Sherlock said jokingly as Mary neared them.

"Oh…" Mary said softly, giving him a fond look as she moved to pull him into a hug, lightly kissing his cheek, Sherlock even returning the gesture as he hugged her back, "Don't worry," she pattered him on the back, "I'll keep him in trouble".

Amelia actually managed a small laugh at that, while Sherlock smiled widely as they pulled apart, "That's my girl," he nodded to Mary.

Mary began to turn away, giving Amelia a sad smile as Amelia returned it weakly, still just trying to keep herself from breaking down. Perhaps Mary could see it, too, because before Amelia could even blink, Mary was moving to wrap her up in a big hug, giving her a comforting squeeze as Amelia closed her eyes tightly and hugged her back just as tightly.

"You're not alone, Amelia," Mary murmured in her ear, her voice sounding slightly chocked, "John and I…we're always there for you, no matter what".

Amelia couldn't speak, emotions whirling through her, but she hoped that Mary understood just how truly grateful she was for just saying those words, even if it wasn't needed. She knew that Mary felt guilty over this whole mess, but she didn't blame her, after all, Sherlock had made his choice and Amelia loved him all the more for it because he simply did what he could to protect the people he loved. How could she be angry over that?

Mary gave her one last tight squeeze before pulling away from her, her eyes watering slightly as turned and walked back over to John's side as he stood a few steps away, taking his hand.

Sherlock cast Amelia a quick, regretful look before clearing his throat, glancing at Mycroft, "Since this is likely the last conversation I'll have with John Watson and Amelia Wilson…" he began, and Amelia cringed just hearing those words and John sighed loudly, "…would you mind if we took a moment".

Mycroft hesitated, eyeing him for a moment before glancing over to the security man standing just over Sherlock's shoulder and jerking his head off towards the other end of the plane. He began to walk away to stand just by the wing of the plane, Mary and the security man following, giving them some privacy. Amelia took a small step back, wishing to allow John a chance to say his goodbye's without her hanging over both of their shoulders, even though Sherlock seemed to wish her to remain with them.

"So, here we are," John said after a moment, looking around the airfield before clearing his throat, obviously not quite knowing what to do right now.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Sherlock said suddenly, breaking the slight awkward feeling in the air.

Amelia raised her eyebrows in surprise, looking quickly to Sherlock, it had taken her dating the man and chatting to his mother to learn the truth of his name, having been rather curious about just how he had come to be called by such an unusual name. She had first thought it might be a family name, since she knew that 'Sherlock' was a very old name, more commonly used as a surname, but she was quite surprised and delighted to find out that it was actually his middle name, even more so given how fond she had always been for the name 'William'. After she had learnt the truth, he had practically sworn her to secrecy.

John blinked, looking back to him in confusion, "Sorry?"

"That's his full name," Amelia explained, slowly breaking into a smile, eyeing Sherlock fondly.

Sherlock shrugged slightly, smiling faintly, "If you're looking for baby names," he added to John.

John laughed, remembering when he had sarcastically suggested his own name for a baby name for him and Irene Adler, he should have expected something similar…only Sherlock obviously meant it, "No, we've had a scan," he informed him, while Amelia looked amused, "We're pretty sure it's a girl".

"Oh," Sherlock said softly, smiling happily, truly looking delighted for John, "Okay," he glanced at Amelia, meeting her eyes briefly as his smile widen, "Well, then, Amelia Grace is an excellent alternative," he remarked, his tone light and with a hint of teasing as Amelia rolled her eyes fondly, "German…" he continued, not taking his eyes off Amelia, "It means 'labour' or 'work'. It's also very popular at the moment. Then there's always Grace, which…"

"I'm going to be the official godmother, Holmes," Amelia cut across him, looking highly amused and a little embarrassed. She looked over to John, giving him a soft smile, "That's honour enough without having baby Watson named after me…" she paused, her tone taking on a cheeky edge, "Of course, that's not to say that I wouldn't be positively be thrilled if you _did_ name the little one after me…"

John laughed slightly, "You'll have to talk to Mary about that one," he told her, making Amelia smile widely and laugh slightly, having no intention of actually doing that. She was still amazed that they wanted her, a woman who had never even held a baby before, to be godmother, she still didn't quite understand why they had picked her, but she was delighted none the less by it. Silence fell between the three of them, growing slightly awkward as they simply looked at one another, before John cleared his throat and looked back out over the airfield again, "Yeah…" he finally turned back towards Sherlock, "Actually, I can't think of a single thing to say".

"No," Sherlock agreed, frowning down at the ground, "Neither can I".

Amelia sighed heavily, any of her previous happiness gone in an instant, "I hate it when this happens," she said quietly. For one moment she could forget what was about to happen, why they were at this airfield in the first place, for one brief second they were just three friends again, but reality was quickly rearing its ugly head and forcing them to remember the truth, no matter how hard it was.

"The game is over," John said softly, looking sadly between his friends.

"The game is never over, John," Sherlock said firmly. He paused, swallowing as he glanced over to Amelia before shaking his head, "But there might be some new players now. It's okay," he looked away from them, his gaze growing distant, "The East Wind takes us all in the end".

John frowned slightly, while even Amelia gave him a puzzled look, "What's that?"

He looked back to them, "It's a story my brother told me when we were kids," he explained, looking between them, "The East Wind, this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path," he sniffed and looked off into the distance again, "It seeks out the unworthy…" he looked back to them, "And plucks them from the Earth. That was generally _me_ ".

"Nice," John nodded sarcastically.

"John, I wouldn't be letting Mycroft tell baby Watson any bedtime stories, if I was you," Amelia commented, glancing at John.

Sherlock sighed, "He was a rubbish big brother," he caught John and Amelia's eyes, all three of them breaking into smiles.

John looked down for a moment, clearing his throat, "So what about you, then?" he looked back up again, focusing on Sherlock. Amelia froze; she hadn't had the heart to tell him the full truth about exactly what Sherlock's exile truly meant, that he would likely be killed within six months, but she suspected that Mary had guessed something, "Where are you actually going now?"

Sherlock caught Amelia's eye for a second, before he quickly looked away, "Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe," he said, sounding completely bored and unconcerned by the whole matter.

"For how long?"

He avoided looking at John directly, instead looking over the top of his head, "Six months, my brother estimates," he replied, frowning deeply, his tone growing softer, "He's never wrong".

"He might be," Amelia said sharply, giving Sherlock a look, clenching her fists at her side, "Not even Mycroft Holmes can know everything".

He gave her a grim look, but he didn't try to argue with her over it, perhaps realising that she needed to hang on to that tiny trace of hope, even if it might end up hurting worse in the end, she needed to keep that hope to be able to still hold her head up each day. That hope was the only thing stopping her from turning into a blubbering mess right now.

John frowned slightly, looking between the two of them, sensing that he was missing something, but he could see from the look on their faces that he wasn't about to get any proper answers right now. So instead of trying, he cleared his throat and turned back to Sherlock, "And then what?" he asked him, "What are you going to do when those six months are over?"

Sherlock bit his lip for a moment, considering it briefly before shrugging and looking away, "Who knows?" he said lightly, and John nodded, taking a deep breath as Sherlock looked back to him, "John, there's something…" he paused, looking down as Amelia gave him an encouraging look, "I should say, I-I've _meant_ to say always and then never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now," he hesitated for a long moment, sucking in a deep breath before lifting his head to look directly at John, his expression very serious, "Sherlock is actually a girl's name".

Amelia blinked and burst out laughing, while John sniggered and turned away, and Sherlock broke into a grin as he looked between his two giggling friends. It obviously hadn't been what Sherlock truly intended to say when he had first began talking, but he certainly had found an excellent way of bringing a little bit of humour into the situation, lightening the moment.

"It's not," John shook his head, still smiling as he turned back towards Sherlock.

"It was worth a try," he shrugged.

"We're not naming our daughter after you, Sherlock".

"I think it could work," he said with another shrug, making John laugh and Amelia smile softly. He grew serious, pulling off his right glove and holding out his exposed hand towards John, "To the very best of times, John".

John stared at him for a moment, looking as though he was fighting to keep his composer as he slowly reached out to take Sherlock's offered hand, shaking it firmly. They stood there for a moment longer, while Amelia closed her eyes and ducked her head, feeling her heart breaking, knowing this would be the last time that John and Sherlock would see each other again. Along the way, the three of them had become more than just friends and colleges, they had become family.

Sherlock released John's hand and cleared his throat, absently slipping his glove back on, "Would you mind if I speak privately with Amelia, John?" he said, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Yeah, of course," John sniffed slightly, nodding as he glanced at Amelia, giving her a reassuring smile before turning and walking over to join Mary and Mycroft.

Amelia swallowed, hard, realising that this truly was her final moments with Sherlock before he…he got on that plane and flew away, "So…" she breathed, not knowing what to say or do, how did one even try to say goodbye when they know it's the last time they will see the person they love?

Sherlock meet her eyes, his expression full of regret and pain, "I'm sorry".

"Stop saying that," she shook her head, closing her eyes briefly, "Please…I've already forgiven you, Holmes".

He nodded slowly, still watching her closely, "Will you stay in London?"

"For a little while, I think," she paused, considering it, "At least until Mary has the baby. She would hunt me down and murder me if I left the country before she gave birth, and you know I mean it when I say that," she gave him a weak smile, which he returned faintly before sighing, "But I was thinking about maybe going back to Ireland, I…I don't think I'll be able to stay at Baker Street again, not without you".

"Amelia, you have to live on," he said, suddenly firm, "I don't want you to spend the next two years of your life grieving for me, live and love. You're far too much of a sentimentalist not to fall in love and have a family".

"Sherlock, I can't even think about any of that," she frowned deeply, shaking her head. She hated hearing him talk like this because it was so unlike him, "How could I possibly even picture _being_ with anyone else? Let alone having a family with someone else?" she reached out, taking his gloved hands, squeezing it, "Sherlock Holmes, I love _you_ , you can't ask me to just…forget you".

Sherlock didn't even blink at her admission of her feelings for him and later, she would realise that it was probably quite obvious all along, he simply ran his thumb over the top of her knuckles, "Then I give you my blessing for when you do move on," he said calmly, his expression soft. Slowly, he lifted his hand up to cup her cheek before leaning forward, pressing his lips against hers, kissing her gently and slowly before pulling back very slightly until his nose lightly brushed against her own, murmuring, "I love you".

That was all it took for Amelia to burst into tears, chocking back a sob as he gently let go of her hand and stepped back from her with a pained expression, turning and starting to move towards the stairs of the plane. She barely stopped herself from grabbing his arm and pulling him back to her, barely stopped herself from foolishly asking him to stay when it was hardly his choice to leave in the first place. There was still a million and one things that she wanted to say but she simply couldn't find the words as she watched him walk away from her and disappear up the stairs into the plane without looking back to any of them, knowing that she would never see him again.

John and Mary came to stand beside her as she stared up at the plane as it began to be prepared to take off, the door closing, the three of them watching silently, Amelia sniffing back tears. Before they knew it, the plane was ready and moving off down the runaway ahead of them, gaining speed until it finally took flight into the cloudy sky, flying off into the distance, carrying Sherlock with it.

"He's gone," Amelia breathed, feeling the slight wind in the air cooling the tears on her face. She imagined she probably looked a mess right now, though she had been prepared enough to wear waterproof eye makeup, "He's gone…just like that".

A few feet away, the rear passenger door to Mycroft's town car opened suddenly, "That is simply not possible," Mycroft was saying over the phone as he climbed out, frowning deeply. He looked across to John, Mary, and Amelia as they turned towards him, staring at them, his eyes lingering on Amelia.

John stepped forward, instantly on edge, "What's happened?" he asked.

Mycroft lowered the phone, ending the call as he looked at them gravely, "He's back," he looked directly at Amelia, who felt her stomach drop, "James Moriarty," he stepped away from the car door and gestured inside it.

Amelia's eyes widened, exchanging a urgent look with John, "That's not possible," she said sharply, her face paling, "James is dead…" she moved forward and around the door, peering into the car, only to slap her hand over her mouth and stumble backwards in shock, very nearly sending herself toppling over in her hast.

"Did you miss me?" a picture of her brother, grinning manically was splashed across the small TV set into the dashboard of the car, the words 'Miss Me?' written across the left side of the images mouth.

She stared at the screen in horror and shock, unable to believe what she was seeing, let alone try to comprehend it. Slowly, she lowered her hand and looked back to Mycroft, who was watching her reaction closely, probably to see if she had any clue that James might still be alive…the very idea was absurd, James was dead and buried, but he must have planned this before he died, that meant that there were still people out there doing his works.

"Get Sherlock," she told Mycroft, taking a small step towards him, lifting her chin higher, "Make the phone call, Mycroft. We need him and you know it, politics be damned".

Mycroft frowned very slightly, clearly not overly pleased with her ordering him around, but he knew as well as she did that they needed Sherlock back if there was any chance of stopping whatever was going on. Slowly, he began dialling a number of his phone and Amelia stepped out of his way as he moved to climb back into the car, slowly walking back over to John and Mary, who looked very confused.

"What's going on?" John asked her at once, eyeing her in concern.

Amelia swallowed, meeting his eyes, "It would seem that my brother and his little games aren't over yet," she told them grimly, feeling as though her emotions had been taken on a rollercoaster, but at least Sherlock would be back and she knew that if he was with them, they would be able to face anything that came their way.

"But he's dead," Mary shook her head, looking quickly between John and Amelia, "I mean, you told me he was dead, John," she frowned at him, "Moriarty, Amelia's twin brother".

"He's supposed to be, yes," Amelia sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. It wasn't James, it couldn't possibly be her brother, but his games obviously continued on even after his death.

"Yeah," John nodded, frowning, "He blew his brains out…sorry, Amelia," he added quickly as Amelia cringed at his wording, throwing him a quick look. He might have tried to kill them all, but he was still her brother.

Mary continued to look between them, "So how can he be back?"

"Well, if he is…" John released a long breathe, turning to look across the airfield, the cold wind picking up around them and ruffling their clothing, "He's better wrap up warm," Amelia and Mary turned to follow his gaze, "There's an East Wind coming".

And they watched as Sherlock's plane flew back down onto the tarmac on the other side of the airfield, landing gently…

 _ **And the next story will be called…Between Dreams and Reality, I figured it was fitting since Sherlock pretty much made up the whole Victorian version of himself. I will be posting that within the next few hours, so keep an eye out for it.**_

 _ **I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed, favourited, and alerted this story, it truly means so much to me and made my day. Also, it's important to note that I have since move to Shoplook. io since Polyvore was recently taken over, so in the future any clothing that Amelia wears will be made on there, in case you wish to follow me over on that site. Today's outfit will also be on there.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoyed the story, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


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